Who you gonna call? - The Winchesters
by TheCrownprincessBride
Summary: "Hunting monsters on the other side of the world?" Dean nodded, then smiled crookedly. "Let's go kick some ass!" AU. Maybe HGxDW for later chapters. Summary inside.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Supernatural. This applies to all following chapters.**

 **A/N: Welcome to my first crossover! This is an AU where Moody and Bobby aren't dead. It is set after the war in the HP universe, and in an unspecified time in the SPN universe. (I'll just use whatever I like and what fits the story, e.g. the bunker or any information about Sam's and Dean's past) :) The title of this chapter is borrowed from SPN 02x20.**

 **SHORT SUMMARY: Britain is swamped by dark creatures and the Ministry is unable to handle them. Mad-Eye, Harry, and Hermione are sent to the US to ask some strange Muggles who call themselves _Hunters_ for help. However, Sam and Dean Wincherster are less than thrilled when the trio suddenly appares in their bunker...**

 **This was originally a one shot, written for The Houses Competition, but the plot bunny bit me, which means I'll probably continue this. Let me know if you like it, please. :)**

 **[edited - 08.04.2019: changed some background information to fit better to later chapters. My thanks to Lauramichca for pointing things out and thank you for your other suggestions!.]**

* * *

 _I mean come on, we hunt Monsters! Normal people - they see a monster and they run, but not us; we search out things that want to kill us.  
_ _You know who does that? Crazy People!_

 _-Dean Winchester-_

* * *

1\. What Is and What Should Never Be

They came at night. They always did.

However, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody was prepared. Ten Aurors, under his command, were patrolling the border to the grounds of Hogwarts, another ten were spread across the castle, working together with those on Prefect duty.

The war against Voldemort had been won. The Death Eaters were defeated and safely locked up in Azkaban. Yet, nobody had considered that the dark creatures following Voldemort would rebel. Under Voldemort's reign, they had been free to feast on Muggles, to attack those deemed unworthy of magic. This cause had attracted many monsters, globally.

And now the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and the MLE were barely able to handle the fallout.

Hogwarts and other magical communities were under attack.

Trolls left their hideouts in the Forbidden Forest and advanced on the Hogwarts' grounds. Dementors gathered around its protective shield, trying to find a weak spot. Red Caps invaded the castle, having lived where blood had been spilled. Vampires sneaked into Hogsmeade, almost killing a shopkeeper. Whole packs of werewolves gathered in the Lake District and other national parks, hunting campers and hikers.

After Moody was positive that all Aurors were prepared and in position, he apparated back to the Ministry of Magic. He had a meeting with Kingsley, the new Minister of Magic, and other Department heads. Something had to be done, and quickly; the International Statute of Secrecy was at stake. The rate Muggles were being murdered these days almost rivalled the times of Voldemort's coup d'état.

When Moody entered the conference room, he was greeted with grim smiles and curt nods. Kingsley was there, along with Arthur Weasley, recently appointed Head of the Muggle Liaison Office, Anna Bates from the Auror Office, the Head from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Celeb Cooper, and, finally, Edith Dellacqua, Department of International Magical Cooperation.

While Kingsley commenced the meeting, Moody skimmed through the reports Anna had handed him. Five Aurors had been hurt fighting a pack of werewolves, all of them still in St. Mungo's. Two Muggles had been found dead, confirmed vampire kills. Another family of Muggles had been killed by ghouls. Boggarts had overrun a small village in Cornwall. A group of hikers had vanished on the Orkney Islands. Another two Aurors had disappeared while out on a scouting mission in Wales.

Moody sighed heavily. He'd known those two Aurors, trained them. David O'Malley and Tanvee Sanyal. And now they were MIA.

"I think we can all agree," he rumbled, interrupting Kingsley in mid-sentence, "that we need help with this situation. I lost two Aurors today, another five injured. There are dead Muggles all over Britain." He slammed his fist on the table. "This is getting worse, not better."

"I know," Kingsley sighed gravely, "The Australian and the German MoM agreed to send some Aurors –"

"I don't need more Aurors. They were trained to fight people, not animals, monsters," Moody interrupted again.

"Exactly," Cooper agreed, nodding vehemently. "We need more people who understand these creatures, who know how to fight them off."

"People to hunt them?" Dellacqua interjected, scrunching her nose.

Moody turned his gaze to her. She was a petite woman, but, despite her size, she was well respected in ministries all over the globe. "If necessary. Would you rather _they_ hunt _us_?"

She glared at him, but before she could speak, Anna, his deputy, took the floor. "We shouldn't forget that we have no idea what kind creatures are responsible for half the deaths. Magizoologists are at a loss. I spoke to Mr. Scamander, and he thinks that some beasts not indigenous to Europe must have slipped into the country."

"I, too, talked to a friend in MACUSA, and he suggested some of the deaths might be caused by _Wendigos_ ," Cooper threw in.

"What are _Wendigos_?" Kingsley asked, his deep voice as calm as ever.

Cooper shrugged. "Monsters."

"That's why we need people who know their way around these foreign creatures," Anna said, turning to Cooper. "Do you still have that contact in MACUSA? Might he know of anybody who can help us?"

"I do," Dellacqua said quietly, and all eyes turned to her. The woman returned the stares, unafraid of the attention. "I have a friend who has a friend who has friend – you know how these things work; anyway, he told me about… Hunters." Her gaze flickered to Moody. "That's what they call themselves. They protect people, hunt monsters."

"What's the name of the contact?" Kingsley asked gently.

"Robert Singer, if I'm not wrong. If he can't help us, he'll know someone who can," she replied.

Kingsley nodded. "Contact him immediately."

Dellacqua smiled determinedly. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I'll get right on it."

With that, she left the room.

"I don't like it," Moody grumbled. "Trusting Americans. Where were they when we needed help against Voldemort?"

Anna dropped the pen she'd been holding, Kingsley tightened his fingers to fists, Cooper flinched so hard he almost fell from his chair.

"And trusting Muggles with our secrets?" Cooper added, after straightening his robes and regaining his composure.

"I don't think that's a problem," Arthur Weasley, who had stayed quiet until now, said. "If we fail, there'll be no Statute of Secrecy intact to protect us. There'll be no Wizards or Muggles left to protect. And," He held up his index finger to silence a rising protest, " _and_ if these hunters know about monsters, they'll know about the supernatural and, consequently, about magic."

"I see it just like Arthur," Kingsley agreed. "The more important questions is, who do we send to represent us?" His gaze glided over those present. "He or she needs to have a good understanding of the situation, needs to know about the creatures, be trained in fighting them, but also, and maybe more importantly, have experience in dealing with Muggles and international travel. It must be someone we trust."

"I'll go. Then I can judge the hunters myself. I have the feeling they mean trouble," Moody announced at once.

A small smile played across Kingsley's lips. "You're not exactly a people's person, Mad-Eye. You couldn't convince anybody to help us."

Moody snorted, but he knew his friend was right. "What about Miss Granger, then? She's travelled to various countries, speaks French and Spanish, and is quite good at speaking. She's Muggle-born. And a very talented witch."

"Hermione Granger?" Arthur echoed.

"But she's not at her most diplomatic in the wake of the war," Cooper cautioned. "Isn't she still... healing?"

"We're all healing, aren't we?" Kingsley said calmly, "And we can still do our jobs."

Cooper shifted uncomfortably on his chair but didn't reply.

"Ask Mr. Potter. He'll help," Moody said gruffly. "They make a good team, balance each other out. Built an army in fifth year." He threw a sideways glance at Cooper, before adding, "He's a bit impulsive somtimes, but he inspires people. That's what we need."

Arthur nodded. "Besides, he was also raised by Muggles; he knows his way around them."

"And they are both well respected, even in the U.S.," Kingsley said. "They're eager to help, anyway."

So it was agreed upon that a delegation consisting of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Mad-Eye Moody were to be sent overseas.

* * *

 _Lebanon, Kansas. A few days later._

Dean Winchester woke abruptly. A small noise had startled him, too quiet to be noticed by most people, but hunter's reflexes die hard. Within seconds, he was at the door, his Colt M1911A1 at the ready. Noiselessly, he nudged the bedroom door open and glanced up and down the dimly lit corridor. It was empty.

But there it was again – a low sound, almost like hushed voices.

His back against the wall, he advanced slowly in the direction of the war room. The sounds grew louder. He'd been right. It was people talking.

Soon, he was close enough to discern what they were saying. It was two males and one female, two of them rather young, judging from the timbre. He had a feeling they were going to be trouble.

"We really should've knocked, Mad-Eye," the girl was saying. She sounded British. "It's rude to just enter someone else's property."

"Have you seen a doorbell, Miss Granger?" one of the males replied, probably said Mad-Eye. Also British. Could they be from the British Men of Letters?

 _What strange names_ , Dean thought. _Mad-Eye. Hermione. Like right out of a fairy tale… or a horror story._

Almost-silent footsteps behind him told Dean that his brother had woken up as well. He half-turned to Sam, who also held his gun in his hand, and signalled him that there were three people in the war room. Quietly, they entered the chamber, large bookcases shielding them from the intruders.

"What kind of place is this?" the other man wondered aloud. "Are you sure Mr. Singer has given us the right address?"

Dean froze. Mr. Singer? As in _Bobby_? Had he sent these people to them without a warning?

"I'm sure the two boys hiding behind the books will tell us in a moment," the first male voice rumbled. Before either of the Winchesters could react, the bookcase slid aside and exposed them. Their guns flew out of their hands and sailed across the room, far out of reach.

Dean quickly tried to assess the situation.

The large man in the middle seemed by far the most dangerous. His scars spoke of many battles. But he also had a weakness. The way he angled his body, it was obvious to Dean that his left foot was a prosthesis. The most disturbing fact about him, though, was his eyes. One normal, small and dark; the other vivid and electric blue, and clearly not normal. It must be a magic object that allowed its bearer to see through furniture and walls… and clothes?

Dean shook himself. That one would have to be taken out first. The boy next. He was tall and skinny; unruly black hair framed his face and a strange, lightning-shaped scar adorned his forehead. He didn't look like he was much of a fighter, but there was a weariness in his gaze as though he was an old soul inside a young body. Dean recognised this look – he wore it himself. This boy had seen death far too many times, he had suffered and he had fought. It wouldn't do to underestimate him.

The girl… Dean swallowed thickly. She was beautiful; deep hazel eyes and chestnut curls. She held up her palms as if to calm a rogue horse, or as if to surrender. She didn't look like a fighter at all.

Only now did he realise that both the men held wooden sticks in front of them as if they were swords, weapons.

It was the girl – _Hermione_ , Dean reminded himself – who spoke first, "Um, Sam and Dean Winchester? We're here to ask for your help." She made a tentative step forward, ignoring the way the black-haired boy tried to shield her with his body. Her gaze was honest and open. "We mean you no harm. And we're sorry we broke into your house."

She nudged the boy beside her, who cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah, sorry."

Suddenly, all thoughts about attacking them vanished from Dean's mind. Normally, he was the suspicious one, but something about the vulnerability, the honesty, in the eyes of the girl disarmed him.

"Who are you?" Sam barked, clearly still wary of the strangers.

"I'm Harry Potter," the boy declared as though it was supposed to mean something to them. When neither of the Winchesters reacted, he continued with the introductions, "This is Alastor Moody, but most call him Mad-Eye. And –"

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said with a faint smile.

"Dean Winchester," Dean replied. "This is my brother Sam. How did you find us?"

"We've been in contact with Bob Singer. He directed us to you," Mad-Eye grunted. "We have a little monster problem on our side of the ocean."

Dean and Sam exchanged meaningful glances. So these people knew about their profession. And they knew Bobby.

"How's Carol, his wife?" Sam inquired innocently.

"Oh, I don't believe we met her," Harry replied. "We didn't even know he had a wife."

"He doesn't," Mad-Eye said, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Any other tests before you trust us?"

From somewhere, Dean produced his silver knife. The people in front of him reacted immediately. Their postures tensed, ready to attack, and now Hermione had a wooden stick in her hand as well. It must be some kind of weapon.

"Whoa," Dean murmured calmingly. "Silver. Touch it please."

The boy was the first to lower the stick and grab the knife. "Fine. See?"

He handed it to the girl, who gave it to Mad-Eye.

"Satisfied?" Hermione asked.

"Almost," Sam smiled crookedly, throwing Holy Water in her face.

"What the –" she spluttered, wiping her wet face. "What was that for?"

"Not a demon either, then," Sam replied. "You can never be too careful."

"We're human!" the black-haired boy protested.

"Prove it." Sam handed him the flask with Holy Water, which he promptly took.

"Now what?" he asked dryly. "Do I need to throw it in my face as well or do hands work just fine?"

"Hands are fine," Sam replied.

After the two men had proven themselves un-possessed, Dean started to relax. "Okay. You say you're here because you need our help. What kind of _help_? Are there no British hunters who can deal with it?"

"Um…" Harry's gaze wandered between the two brothers. "It's kind of a long story. Why don't we sit down?"

Dean didn't move an inch.

Mad-Eye sighed. "Why not make it difficult?" He shook his head, eyeing Dean closely. "You're going to be trouble, aren't you?"

Dean swallowed nervously, feeling the blue eye seeing right through him, x-raying him. He felt naked and utterly exposed.

"Fine," he gave in. "As long as you put those sticks or whatever they are away, I'll play nice."

"These… oh. I guess there's something else we need to tell you," Harry said, exchanging glances with the others. "These are our wands. We're wizards. Well, Hermione's a witch, of course."

As soon as the word _witch_ had left the boy's mouth, the Winchesters reacted. While Sam dove for his gun, Dean launched himself forward and grabbed Hermione. Not only because she was closest to him, but also because the other two would do anything to protect her. One arm slung around her chest, he held her close; the other hand pressed the silver knife to her throat. If only it were iron.

 _Witches_! That explained how they'd managed to break into the bunker.

"I knew you'd be trouble. Let her go!" Mad-Eye demanded. "Or you'll end up a squirrel, boy."

Sam had reached his gun and pointed it at the two intruders. "Your magic doesn't scare us. What do you really want? Our Grimoire?"

"We don't want anything from you other than your help," Hermione replied before the others could. She didn't sound at all afraid although the knife sat dangerously on her skin. "I can make you let go, but I'd rather you'd trust us enough to release me."

"Why did you hide your identities?" Sam demanded.

"We didn't – at least not on purpose. We're not used to explaining this to Muggles – people without magic," Harry replied quickly, his voice had a panicked edge to it. He was watching Hermione closely, and a moment later, Dean understood why.

The girl began to shake all over, but she was fighting it. Her right hand had clawed into her left arm so violently, he could see droplets of blood seeping through her shirt.

"Please, put the knife down," the boy begged. "We don't want to force you, but we will."

"Harry…" Hermione warned, her voice tremulous, but he paid no heed.

"Dean," Sam said softly.

Dean looked over at his brother, and a mutual understanding passed between them. Swiftly, he put the knife down, stepping away from the girl who swayed dangerously. Her knees buckled, but the black-haired boy was there in time to catch her.

"It's okay, Hermione," he murmured lowly, but Dean could still hear him. "Bellatrix isn't here. We're safe, far away from the Manor. Do you hear me? _We're safe_."

Dean had seen this kind of reactions before, but normally they occurred in war veterans or trauma victims. What had happened to the girl – to all of them – that made them react so strongly?

"Here are our wands. A peace offering of sort," Harry suddenly said, turning back to Sam, who still had his gun levelled at them. He pushed two wooden sticks – his own and Hermione's – over to Sam and signalled at Mad-Eye to do the same. The older man grudgingly obeyed.

"Okay, now that we're at your mercy – will you let us explain?"

Dean nodded after exchanging glances with Sam.

They took seats around the war room table. Hermione had calmed down, but her breathing was still erratic and she was as pale as a ghost.

"Do you want some water?" Sam offered.

"Yes, please," she replied, her voice trembling.

After Sam had returned, Harry began to explain about the magic they possessed; about the Statute of Secrecy; about a war Dean didn't even have the faintest understanding of - so his instincts had been right, there had been a war; about a dark wizard who called himself Voldemort; and finally, the heart of the matter – the monsters, creatures, that the Ministry of Magic was unable to contain.

"And that's where you come in," Harry concluded. "We need your help identifying and hunting them. We want you to train us and other Aurors."

Dean wanted to protest, wanted to say that it was impossible to train a bunch of rookies in hunting monsters in only a few weeks, that they couldn't just travel all over the world to help someone. But then his gaze fell on Hermione and he silenced himself.

These people had come from the other side of the globe, on a leap of faith, hoping to find help. Who was he to reject them?

Sam's expression mirrored his own thoughts, and the decision fell as easily as this.

"Hunting monsters on the other side of the world?" Dean nodded, then smiled crookedly. "Let's go kick some ass!"

* * *

 ***Written for THC, Year 3, Round 4***

 **House: Ravenclaw  
Year: 1  
Category: Bonus Round  
Prompts: Supernatural Crossover, Mad-Eye Moody, "YOU'RE GOING TO BE TROUBLE, AREN'T YOU?" Speech  
W/C: 2, 986  
Beta(s): 2D, Holly**

* * *

Please let me know if I should continue this. Thank you! :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and followed! Btw, I hadn't seen the new parody by the Hillywood Show prior to posting the first chapter (if you haven't either, check it out). It seems I accidentally quoted them, haha.**

 **This chapter is unbetaed. Sorry, for the mistakes, I'm not a native. If anyone is up for the job, shoot me a message :)**

* * *

 _"We're the guys that save the world." - Sam Winchester_

* * *

2\. Saving People

"Are you sure about this, Dean?" Sam whispered, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected their visitors to have snuck up on them, eavesdropping. "I mean, they are _witches_!"

"They are _people_ ," Dean countered while inspecting his beloved Colt with ivory grips. "We've worked with witches before."

"And when has that ever paid off for us?" Sam retorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Then, let's not do it for them, let's do it for the people on that godforsaken island. Since when do we not care about people anymore?"

Sam rolled his eyes.

" _Fine_ ," Dean sighed after they had glared at each other for a moment, "I know. I'm not saying, trust them. I've got enough witch-killing bullets right here." Dean tapped his gun. "But their magic works differently than Rowena's or that of any other witch we've encountered. They're born with it. No trade with a demon, Sam."

"Yes, but…"

"Shut up and pack your stuff, bitch," Dean said, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans.

Sam snorted, "Jerk," and left the room.

* * *

When Dean returned to the war room, shouldering a backpack with clothes and another duffle bag with weapons, he was greeted by a peculiar sight. Hermione sat at one of the tables, surrounded by giant tomes that almost completely shielded her from everyone's view. Harry stood a few paces away, speaking in an angry whisper into his mobile phone.

Hermione was well aware of his presence. Her whole posture had tensed the second he'd entered, but she refused to look up from her book and kept on reading.

"Have you read all these?" Dean asked, dropping his bags on a chair. The scepticism was obvious in his tone – why would anybody voluntarily read these dismal books?

"Yes," Hermione replied pointedly.

Dean gaped at her. He and Sam had barely been away an hour and she'd skimmed five books already? God, she must love reading.

"Where's the other guy with the freaky eye?"

"Back to the Ministry," Hermione said absent-mindedly. "He's the head of the Auror Office. He can't just wait around."

Dean bit back a snarky comment and asked instead, "You used that term before. What are _Aurors_?"

Hermione sighed, looking up from her book. "They hunt dark wizards. Something like the police or the FBI, you might say. They undergo a special training."

He scrutinised her. She looked too young to be already working at the police, but, on the other hand, she'd been through a war. He and Sam had also been too young when they'd been thrown into a world of hunting. Despite her panic attack earlier, she appeared just like a normal teenager, without the tell-tale signs that he, Sam, and even Harry showed. There was neither distrust, nor suspicion, nor wariness in her eyes. "So… are you two Aur- Auroras as well?"

"Aurors," Hermione corrected him instantly, shaking her head. "I am not. Technically speaking, I'm still in school. Harry's an Auror, though." She casually pointed behind her to the boy, who still had his back turned to them and was arguing with someone on the phone, judging from the tenseness in his shoulders.

"In school?" Dean echoed.

"Hogwarts," she nodded. "A special school for wizards and witches."

Dean flinched at the word, but she deliberately ignored it.

"We learn how to handle our magic there. I was offered a job at the Ministry, but I opted to complete my education."

Dean furrowed his brow. This girl reminded him so much of his brother. "Why would they offer you a job? You're – what? Not even twenty?!"

"I'm nineteen," she replied flatly, slamming her book shut. "Harry's only eighteen. I was offered a job because I'm a bloody good witch and because I fought more Death Eaters than most Aurors have encountered all their lives."

"Whoa. I didn't mean to insult you," Dean said quickly. His gaze dropped to her throat where the faint red line where his knife had grazed her skin was still visible. "I- I'm sorry for before."

"It's okay," she replied without inflection, not meeting his eyes. "You were only defending yourself. I understand."

Dean opened his mouth. He wanted to ask a thousands questions about the war, her past, magic… but he kept quiet. Before the moment could turn even more awkward, Sam entered the war room.

"Ready." He carefully deposited his things on the table, then turned to Hermione. "Watcha reading?"

" _Alchemy in the Empire of Alexander the Great_ ," she replied instantly, a smile tucking at the corners of her lips. "It's fascinating. I studied alchemy as part of my Potions curriculum, but this…" Her fingers traced the spine of the book. "This is ancient knowledge. I'm not sure even the Hogwarts library has such a book. You have a lot of books about magic around here." Her gaze traced the large bookshelves, and she sighed. "Of course, I also prepared myself for the upcoming… er, hunt." Hermione looked decidedly uncomfortable at uttering the word, much the way Dean and Sam looked when they used the word _magic_.

She pushed the book she'd been reading aside and reached inside her handbag, pulling out a newly-looking copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. "I tried to cross-reference our schoolbook with your lore, but unfortunately there is no 'Monster 101' in your collection." She smiled dryly. "Some creatures exist in both our 'worlds', it seems. The more interesting ones, however, are the beasts we know nothing about." She drew her wand and waved it towards the books, which began to sort themselves and return to their shelves.

Dean and Sam automatically flinched, but she ignored it. "Wendigos, demons, hell hounds, djinns, skin walkers, shape shifters, rougarous… the list is endless. I made some copies for us. I hope you don't mind."

"Er, of course not," Sam replied lamely, a bit overwhelmed by the information she'd thrown at him.

"How again did you manage to do that in only one hour? Magic?" Dean asked bluntly.

"No." She smirked at him. "I used that head of mine. Pretty useful, not only for hats, you know."

Sam laughed out loud, but Dean glared at her. She had definitely not forgiven him for attacking her.

"Are you ready to leave?" the boy behind them suddenly asked. He'd put his phone back into his pocket and was watching the two hunters with curiosity.

"As ready as can be," Dean replied, grabbing his backpack. "Let's kill some monsters."

* * *

From the corners of her eyes, Hermione watched the two brothers as they walked down the hallway to the training gym for new Aurors. There, the Winchesters would meet the Auror teams, as well as selected wizards from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and a few Hogwarts teachers.

Both guys were tall and muscular, and not bad looking either. Dean, the older brother, wore a plaid shirt over a dark green t-shirt, a worn-out pair of jeans, and black boots. Sam also wore multiple layers of shirts, blue jeans and boots.

Hermione noted that their clothes were rather chosen for practicality than for their looks. And here, in the Ministry of Magic, they seemed even more out of place than in a posh restaurant. But neither of them seemed to notice that. They stared wide-eyed at the wizards and witches in robes who passed them, chattering about work, spells, quills, and the daily madness of life. It was visible from the tenseness in their shoulders that they didn't feel comfortable, surrounded by so much magic. Dean's hand flinched to his gun that was hidden under his shirts every now and then.

Hermione still blushed at the thought how she'd reacted in the bunker. The cold metal at her throat had triggered something inside her.

 _Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix. The Cruciatus._

Images and emotions had crashed down on her, and a terrible weight on her chest had made it impossible to breathe. Hermione hated herself for showing such weakness in front of the two hunters, who literally had been to hell and back – from what Bobby had told them. And she didn't see them react so violently to knives.

Of course, she didn't blame Dean for his reaction. He was looking out for himself and his brother. She'd do the same for Harry and Ron. But… but she didn't trust him to not jump at her any minute. She was careful to always have Sam or Harry between them to make less of a target should Dean decide they were no longer trustworthy and had to be killed. It was stupid, she knew that, but she couldn't help herself.

"Why are they staring at us?" Dean murmured, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

"It's not you, it's us," Harry replied casually.

"You?" echoed Sam, staring at Harry as if trying to detect what was so special about that skinny boy.

Hermione and Harry exchanged quick glances, and Harry nodded in affirmation to their silent exchange. "Well," Hermione began, "we told you about the war, right?"

"Against Volde- Voldemort?" Sam asked.

An elderly wizard passing them squeaked, and the sheets of paper he'd held in his hands sailed through the air.

"Sh," Harry admonished. "People still react very badly to his name."

"Why?" Dean asked, looking back at the wizard, who was using his wand to pick up the pages.

"They were terrified, terribly terrified, of his name," Hermione explained quietly. "Anyway. We told you we won the war. But we didn't tell you how."

Sam frowned. "That seems a long story."

"It is," Hermione nodded. "However, the short version is: it was Harry. He killed him. Ron and I helped him do it…" She hesitated a moment, unsure how much she should share for now.

"That's why they stare," Harry said quickly, feeling her hesitation.

"You?" Dean asked, disbelief laced into his voice.

Harry stopped dead. "Hard to believe, isn't it? That a seventeen year old boy could defeat such a powerful wizard." His voice was light, almost joking, but there was a tenseness in his jaw that betrayed the lightness.

"No… not really," Dean replied.

Harry frowned, the silent question obvious on his features.

"It's not the age," the older Winchester added. "I killed my first monster with fifteen. It's just… you don't look like a fighter, a killer."

"And I am neither," Harry said with a shrug. "Voldemort's killing curse rebounded. It has to do with wand lore and old, dangerous magic, so let's not get into that now. I'll answer all your questions later."

"Yes, they're waiting for us," Hermione added, forcing a smile on her face. She felt uncomfortable under the Winchester's stares. The new information didn't seem to make them trust Harry and her more, but instead, it made them even warier. She could feel Dean's gaze on her back as she strode ahead towards the training gym.

Just short of the entrance, they stopped. Harry gave them a measuring look. "I hope you are prepared for some magic. These are wizards and witches."

Dean flinched.

"They won't hold back their magic for you. It's how we train, how we fight. So, are you okay with that?"

A crooked smile ghosted over Dean's expression, masking the fear Hermione had spotted there for a second. "I hope there'll be pie."


	3. Chapter 3

_You're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something.  
\- Dean Winchester_

* * *

3\. Hunting Things

"But – why me?" Hermione repeated, desperation seeping into her voice. She looked pleadingly from Kingsley to Professor McGonagall. "The NEWTs are coming up soon!"

"Hermione –" Kingsley began, but was interrupted by the Professor.

"Miss Granger, we both know you're well ahead of schedule. It's _February_." She gave the younger witch a stern glance. "Do you mean to tell me that your grades are more important than protecting other students?"

"No, but –"

"I thought so. End of discussion," McGonagall said with a voice that tolerated no dissent. Hermione knew better than to argue with the headmistress; her shoulders slumped visibly as she accepted her defeat. "You are exempted from class until the situation is under control. You can deliver your assignments via owl-post, if you wish to do so. Your teachers can handle that as they see fit."

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it again.

"You'll receive compensation for your work, of course, and we can provide you with an accommodation while you're working for us," Kingsley began to speak.

Hermione waved his offer away. "Don't worry, Minister. I'll stay with Harry at Grimmauld Place. And, as you know, money's not an issue."

"Right," Kingsley nodded. "We appreciate your help, Hermione."

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you. Am I excused?"

The adults exchanged a quick glance. The witch in front of them didn't act at all like the Hermione Granger they knew. The fire in her eyes was gone, extinguished, and she seemed to have given up, resigned to her fate. Professor McGonagall hoped that it would do her good to be outside again, to act, to confront things. Hermione's coping mechanism was to bury herself in books and academic work. Her grades were superb. There was barely a day where Hermione could _not_ be found in the library, working. With most of her friends no longer in school, she had isolated herself.

Even though the war had ended, it was not over in her head. Memories, traumas, fears, and regrets constantly bombarded Hermione; and then, there were the very real monsters right on their doorstep.

"Of course," Kingsley sighed.

Hermione straightened herself, gave the adults a curt nod, and practically ran out of Kingsley's office. Long strides took her quickly down the hallway and into the next bathroom. With shaking fingers, she cast a _Muffliato_ , then slumped down to the floor.

Her breathing was loud and ragged while she fought to get the panic attack under control that had built up inside her, threatening to overcome her. They expected her to help Harry with the Winchesters. They wanted her to _hunt_. And, on top of that, she was supposed to write detailed reports of the creatures they encountered.

She knew she was supposed to be proud to have been given such an important job.

But all she wanted was a little peace and quiet. No monsters; nothing to kill, or hunt, or run from; no branches to trip over; no spells cast in defence; no pain. No pain…

Hermione sighed, rubbing her left arm. She was stronger than this! She wouldn't let some pesky monsters and two hunters – and especially _Dean_ – get her down! So what, if they expected her to save the world again? They expected the same from Harry, and he didn't seem to falter or crumple under the pressure. So what, that she had already given them all she had? It no longer mattered – they still expected more.

Hermione didn't want to stay broken and ruined. She wanted to be strong again, full of life and joie de vivre.

She would get this bloody job done, she would do what was expected from her, and she would be freaking brilliant at it!

* * *

"You live here?" Dean asked, sceptically eying the run-down houses at Grimmauld Place. Night had fallen, and the place was tinted in the orange light of street lanterns.

"But…" Sam counted the houses again. "But there's no number twelve."

Dean frowned. Now that his brother had mentioned it, he spotted the mistake, too. Next to number eleven was number thirteen.

Harry grinned at them. "Fidelius charm. The house is invisible, intangible, unplottable, and soundproof. Only I, the Secret Keeper, can divulge the location to you." His grin widened at the similar expressions of disbelief on the brothers' faces. "Come on."

He stepped forward, right towards the gap between numbers eleven and thirteen. And suddenly, when they were right in front of the townhouses, something _strange_ happened. A third house seemed to grow out of the earth, shoving the neighbouring houses aside and squeezing into the gap between them. A worn set of front steps led to a door concealed by deep shadows.

"Welcome to our world," Harry said dryly and walked up to the door.

Dean swallowed nervously. He didn't like this. The air tingled with magic, and the house looked like the ideal place for a poltergeist or a haunted spirit. Hopefully these wizards had some salt at home!

Trying not to let his apprehension show, he followed Harry up the stairs and into a long hallway lit by gas lamps. But that was about the only thing that had an air of 'ancient and haunted'. The floor was made of warm, honey-coloured wood, furnished with soft blue carpets. The beige wallpaper was new. Pictures decorated the walls.

Dean froze, doing a double take, and Sam bumped right into him.

"What the –"

"The picture just moved!" Dean blurted out, goggling at a man with glasses, much like Harry's, and a woman with red hair. The couple was undoubtedly waving at them.

The door behind the boys fell shut with a bang, and both hunters jumped.

"You can admire the interior design tomorrow," Hermione said grumpily, shoving them aside. "I'm tired, and hungry, and not up for a magic-is-evil discussion."

Dean opened his mouth to retort, but a dig in the ribs from his brother stopped him. "Touchy," he whispered under his breath, careful neither she nor Harry could hear him.

"Magic can make pictures move?" Sam asked, curiosity taking him over.

"Yes," Harry replied. "Magic can do a lot of things."

Dean rolled his eyes, but followed his host deeper into the house.

"This used to be the dining room, but I turned it into the drawing room." Harry pointed at a door to his left, then proceeded up the stairs. "The old drawing room is the library now, and what used to be an en-suite bedroom is my office. Nice view on the garden." The Winchesters had barely any time to take in the surroundings before Harry led them up another flight of stairs. "The Master bedroom. It took me ages to make it habitable. Buckbeak used to live here for a time. A Hippogriff," he added as some sort of explanation – however, to Dean, it didn't explain anything. "Here is the big bathroom."

" _Hippogriff_?" Sam mouthed. Dean only shrugged. Who knew what kind of pets these wizards had. If harmless werewolves existed here who even worked at the Ministry and owls were used to deliver post, maybe these people also kept wild animals as means of transportation, or as pet, or whatever.

They climbed up another flight of stairs. The smell of paint hung in the air, indicating that this floor had only recently been renovated.

"Here are three bedrooms and one bathroom. The two rooms upstairs are still being refurbished, sorry," Harry said, gesturing towards the doors.

"This is mine," Hermione announced suddenly, brushing past them and walking straight into the largest bedroom. A second later, her door clicked shut.

Harry's gaze wandered between them. "I'll have Kreacher whip something up for dinner. Just come downstairs into the kitchen whenever you're ready."

"Yeah," Sam replied, attempting a weak smile.

Dean turned wordlessly and marched into the bedroom the farthest away from Hermione's room. Sighing, Sam took the remaining bedroom. It was obvious that nobody had used it since it had been renovated. Everything was as clean and pristine as in a luxury hotel. Unvarnished birch floorboards matched the cream embossed wallpaper perfectly. The furniture was painted off-white to further brighten the room. A fire was lit in the fireplace, radiating off a comfortable warmth and cosiness. Moonlight slanted through the half-drawn curtains, painting a strip of silver on the floor.

Furrowing his brow, Sam stepped towards the window. This room was much larger than he had anticipated from the length of the hallway; and since Hermione's bedroom opened to Grimmauld Place and Dean's backed to the garden, there should be no window at all in Sam's room.

But there was.

The moonlight falling through the enchanted window looked incredibly real, and Sam could even watch the snow drift to earth outside. Quickly, he shut the curtains. So much magic gave him the creeps.

While Sam started to unpack, the shower was turned on in the bathroom next door.

He had to admit that the day could have gone better. The Winchesters had been welcomed by a motley bunch of wizards and witches, most of them wearing robes in various colours, others something that looked like a bulletproof vest made of leather with a large M in front and H.I.T. on the back. Mad-Eye had been present as well, introducing the brothers with a few short words, mostly stating their purpose here in Britain: support the Ministry of Magic in defending Wizarding and Muggle communities, and identify and hunt malevolent creatures. Then the assembled wizards had introduced themselves, throwing around incomprehensible terms, like Hit wizard, Wizengamot, DADA teacher, Dementors, Department for Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, and so on. And somewhere in between, an inconspicuous wizard had stepped forward with a smile and had, out of the blue, admitted to being a _werewolf_.

Instantly, Dean had lost it.

* * *

Before anyone was able to react, Dean drew his gun and pulled the trigger, directing a silver bullet directly at the heart of the monster.

" _Protego maxima_ ," several voices bellowed and a gleaming shield deflected the bullet, only milliseconds before it would have hit its target.

" _Expelliarmus_." With a swish of Mad-Eye's wand, Dean's colt flew across the room. "Everyone calm down!" the Auror barked, but none of the wizards lowered their wands or seemed to relax. The air was so heavy with tension and unreleased magic that goose bumps ran across Sam's skin.

Thirty wands were pointing directly at the Winchester's hearts. It took Sam all of his self-control to not reach for his gun or any other weapon; he knew they'd be incapacitated before he could even touch its handle. Besides, it wouldn't really help diffusing the situation. He just felt better if he could at least _pretend_ that he was able to defend himself.

"We're sorry," Sam hurried to say, casting a sideways glance to his brother, who didn't look sorry at all but was glaring at the werewolf on the other side of the room. "Hunter's reflexes."

Nobody reacted; stony faces and silence all around.

"We didn't mean to hurt you, er… Frank was it?" Sam tried again.

The werewolf nodded, still visibly shaken.

"It's nothing personal. Normally, when we encounter a werewolf, it's either us or them. We wouldn't have survived that long if we wouldn't know how to…" he faltered. He had the feeling that leaving 'kill werewolves' unsaid would be good for his well-being.

To his surprise, Hermione helped him out. She casually stepped forward and placed herself in front of the hunters. It said much about her status that all wands were dropped within the blink of an eye. "It's easy, really," she said, shrugging. "How would you have reacted if anyone would have admitted to being a Death Eater?"

A shudder went through the room, and Sam was quite sure that, at the moment, it wouldn't be wise to ask what _Death Eaters_ were exactly. However, she seemed to have said the right thing because some of the tension vanished.

Frank stepped forward. "Let's try again. I'm Franklin Adua, Frank for short. I was bitten by Greyback when I was sixteen. I have never killed a human." He held out his hand, expectantly waiting for the Winchesters to react.

Sam pulled himself together. Frank claimed to have never killed a human, which neither Sam nor Dean could say from themselves. They had killed plenty, either directly or indirectly. So who was he to judge the werewolf that seemed to be accepted by wizardkind?

"Sam Winchester," he said, stepping out from behind Hermione and taking the werewolf's hand.

"Nice to meet you. I'm sorry to have caused trouble," Frank replied, a ghost of a smile flickering across his face.

Dean made no move to follow Sam's example, but somehow, nobody expected him to.

As if nothing had occurred, they smoothly went over to planning the next steps. After lunch – or rather late breakfast for the Winchesters – they decided to present the most common malevolent creatures and how they could be stopped.

"Can I ask a question?" a girl, not much older than Harry or Hermione, threw in.

"Um, sure," Sam nodded.

"So… a lot of hikers went missing recently." She shifted her weight, clearly uncomfortable. "And I've heard people say it was a Wendigo. Can you tell me what that is?"

Sam gave her a small smile. "Of course. A Wendigo more commonly occurs in North America, but it's possible one somehow managed to cross the ocean. Its name is derived from a Cree Indian word meaning 'evil that devours'. The short version is that it feeds on human flesh, and there's only one way to kill it." Sam let his gaze wander over the crowd in front of him who was listening intently. "Guns and knives are pretty much useless. You have to burn it."

A dark-haired man in the corner snorted. "That's it?"

Sam narrowed his eyes, about to reply, but Dean was faster. "You think it's easy to torch a fifteen feet tall monster that is wickedly fast and way stronger than any human? And to carry a flamethrower through the woods is also no bowl of cherries."

The other man chuckled. "Flamethrower? Are you kidding me?" He began laughing, nudging the guy next to him. "Muggles. Oh boy."

"That's enough, Simmons," Mad-Eye said sharply, and the man shut up instantly.

"What was so funny about that?" Sam asked. Dean, next to him, had his fists clenched tightly and seemed only seconds away from exploding again.

"We're wizards, Sam," Harry replied almost gently, as if he was speaking to a child. "It's pretty easy to set things on fire."

Sam frowned at him. "It is?"

"You want a demonstration?" Harry grinned, suddenly smug. "Do you see the training dummy over there?" He pointed at the other side of the gym where cloaked figures were lined up on the wall. "Hermione, would you?"

The witch grinned widely. "My pleasure." She aimed her wand at one of the dummies, which suddenly came to life and advanced on the group. " _Incendio_ ," she said, without even raising her voice. Instantly, the dummy went up in flames.

Sam's mouth fell open. That would definitely have killed a Wendigo. Although the casual use of magic made him feel a little uneasy, he couldn't deny how handy it was in hunting.

"Sam, I need to talk to you for a second," Dean suddenly snapped, almost dragging him out of the gym and into the nearest bathroom.

"What the hell, Dean!"

"We're leaving," Dean said, his voice harsh and angry. "We're leaving right now."  
"We – what?"

"I can tolerate that they are natural-born witches. But werewolves?! Really, Sammy?" Dean shook his head.

"Frank seemed nice enough," Sam attempted to reassure his brother.

"Awesome. So you're on first name basis already? What's next? Going out for drinks? A stroll through the park by night?"

"Shut up, Dean!" Sam snapped. "He doesn't kill people. He seems to have that side of him under control."

"Oh yeah, and for how long? I don't think any of these people will react kindly when we have to ice their monster friend." Dean's voice grew louder. "I don't want to constantly watch my back with them."

"But –"

Dean cut across him. "No, Sam. Have you seen that magic? It's evil. She just fucking burned a person without batting an eye."

"It wasn't a person," Sam retorted. "And besides, _you_ were the one who wanted to go on this mission. What happened to 'it's about the people'?"

"Well, I changed my mind," Dean hissed, crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest.

"And I haven't," Sam replied.

The brothers glared at each other for several moments before Sam broke the silence. "We can't leave, Dean. They asked us for help and we agreed. We can't just chicken out."

"I'm not chickening out."

Sam rolled his eyes. His brother was stubborn as ever. "And how do you propose we leave? We can't book any flights; man, we're not even legally in this country."

"Castiel can zap as back," Dean replied, still glaring at Sam as if he could change his mind just by staring at him hard enough.

"Good luck with that. He hasn't texted in months, so you think he'll come running because we need a lift?" Sam shook his head. "Besides, he wouldn't help us."

"And why's that, Mr. Clever-clever?"

"Because it would be wrong, Dean." Sam exhaled audibly, his anger slowly leaving him. "You heard what the girl said. Hikers went missing. We could find them, kill monsters, do what we do."

Suddenly, the bathroom door banged open and Hermione marched in. "What's going on here?"

"It's the men's bathroom," Dean said pointedly. "No chicks allowed."

"Call me chick again and –"

"You don't frighten me, little witch."

"Oh, yeah?" Hermione asked, drawing her wand. Dean flinched away. "Thought so." She turned to Sam. "What's the problem?"

"Er." Sam eyed the tip of her wand nervously.

"Magic is evil," Dean spat, and this time, Hermione flinched.

"Magic is neither good nor evil," she then said, her shoulders straightening as if she was steeling herself for a battle. "It's the people who use it that are."

"Don't give me that bullshit. You have no idea what you're talking about." Dean took a step towards her so that the tip of her wand almost touched his chest. "You're one of them, after all."

Shock crossed Hermione's face. "So you think I'm evil?" she asked, stepping back and lowering her wand.

Dean measured her with his gaze. "No. But if you had been through what we've been through… we've seen people being killed by magic, tortured by magic. But, of course, you wouldn't know anything about that. It's all sunshine and rainbows for you, isn't it?"

Hermione paled, and for a second, it looked like she might punch Dean. "Don't you dare say that to me!" Her voice skipped a few octaves, bordering on hysteric, but the look that she gave Dean was utterly terrifying. "I'd say' go to hell', but you've already been there, haven't you?"

She turned on her heels and stormed out of the room. The door crashed against the wall and then fell shut with a bang that echoed eerily through the silence.

"Well done, Dean," Sam said, his disappointment seeping into his voice.

"I – I–" Dean whispered, taken aback by Hermione's violent reaction.

"They told us they've been in a war, man. But you just had to be right, hadn't you?"

His brother opened his mouth and closed it again. The rage seemed to leave him, and his shoulder slumped slightly.

"I'm going back in there," Sam said after it seemed like his brother wasn't going to say anything further. "These people depend on us, and I won't let them down."

"Sammy…"

"No, Dean," he said.

With the air of a man forced to do something he hated, Dean replied, "Fine. On one condition: Tonight, we're going hunting. I have the urge to punch something, and it'd be better if it hits a rogue werewolf than your friend over there in the gym."

"You're a jerk, you know that?" Sam said, opening the door and motioning for Dean to pass through.

Dean smirked. "Says the queen of bitches."

* * *

 **A/N: I hope you liked it. I tried my best to make it longer than the last chapter.**

 **Please review. :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Finally some monster hunting in this chapter! I hope you'll enjoy it. Sorry for any mistakes!**

 **On another note, my story** "No More Broken Dreams" **has been nominated for the** Good Things Come to Those Who Hustle (Favorite Co-Worker Era) **in the** Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook Summer Awards 2018!

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's reading my stories, and who has nominated me and my first story. It is an amazing feeling. You would do me a big favour by jumping over to it, reading it, and - if you liked it - VOTING FOR me. (link:** *goo*.*gl/*forms/*rmftYXR*G9V5yuIff2* **)**

 **Thanks, guys. On with the story...**

* * *

 _There's no higher power, there's no God._

 _T_ _here's just chaos and violence and random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere._

 _It rips you to shreds._

 _\- Dean Winchester_

* * *

4\. It's the family business

When Sam entered the kitchen, freshly showered and changed, Harry and Hermione were already there, talking quietly. They both looked up, but only Harry smiled.

"Everything okay? It's not too cold in your room, is it?" he asked politely.

"No, it's perfect. Thank you." Sam glanced around the kitchen. It was simply furnished but cosy. A pot of stew or soup bubbled happily on the stove, and its smell made Sam's stomach rumble. "Do you live here alone?"

An odd gleam appeared in Harry's eyes. "Not completely. Kreacher lives here as well, but I told him to stay in his room. I don't need another shootout today."

Sam frowned. So this Kreacher person was another wizard or magical being, and Harry seemed to suspect that they wouldn't easily accept him. Maybe he was right. Hunters were known to shoot first and ask questions later, and especially Dean seemed to fulfil that stereotype today.

"But yes, mostly alone," Harry continued. "It used to be the house of my godfather. He left it to me when he was… he left it to me."

Sam neither missed the sadness in the young man's eyes nor the way Hermione glanced at her friend. Harry's godfather seemed to be dead, and not a died-of-old-age-in-his-bed kind of dead.

"And your parents?"

"Dead. Voldemort killed them. That's how I got this scar." Harry smoothed his hair out of the way to reveal the lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

Sam swallowed. "How old were you?"

"Barely a year old," the other boy replied. He seemed casual about it, almost relaxed, but to Sam that made it all the more obvious how tragic their loss had been for Harry. It was such a deep pain that it couldn't be displayed to the world but had to be kept hidden and protected.

"I'm sorry."

Harry nodded, but kept his eyes on the table.

"And you, Hermione?" Sam asked, unable to bear the heavy silence that had fallen upon the room. "You live at home?"

The girl twitched, and Sam wondered what he possibly could have said that had hurt her. "No, at Hogwarts. It's a boarding school."

Sam wanted to ask more, but he had the feeling Hermione's past was a line he was not ready to cross yet.

"Well, thank you for taking us in." He glanced at the stove. "And for dinner, I guess."

The first real smiled ghosted over Harry's face. "No worries."

Stomping steps echoing through the house told the trio that Dean was making his way downstairs as well. Sam had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. His brother could be as silent and elegant as a cat on the hunt, if he wished to be so. But right now, he was behaving like an over-grown teenager who hadn't got his way.

The silence between Hermione and Dean was icy, and however hard Sam and Harry tried to make conversation, it couldn't overcome the awkwardness in the room. They hadn't spoken to each other since the incident, and although Sam hoped his brother would apologise, it wasn't very likely to happen anytime soon.

After they had finished a very delicious stew, Dean finally spoke. "We want to follow up on that missing hiker's case. Do you have the files?"

"You want to go hunting?" Harry asked. "Like tonight?"

"That's what we're here for," Dean replied flatly.

Harry shook his head. "You can't go out on your own."

"We don't need you to babysit us," Dean snapped before Sam could say anything.

"We do. There are more than your common creatures out there. Beings that can only be kept at bay by magic," Hermione threw in.

Dean snorted.

"Besides, you have no means of transportation," the witch added rather smugly.

Before the older Winchester could let another snide remark slip, Sam said, "Will you help us?"

"Of course," Harry said, after exchanging a quick glance with Hermione. With a swish of his wand, a thick file appeared in front of him, and he pushed it over to Sam. "What do you make of it?"

"So," he murmured, after skimming the file, "fifteen hikers went missing in the last month. Ten in the month before that. All in different location. Never more than two or three at once. But get this, the first two went missing near Exeter, the next one near Bath, then, a couple of days later, Moreton-in-Marsh. Two weeks ago, three hikers disappeared near Keswick. Last week, someone hiking through Fairlie Moor. Do you see the pattern?"

Dean and Harry looked at him blankly, but Hermione leapt to her feet. "Oh my god!"

"Exactly," Sam replied. "With a bit of luck, we can predict where it will strike next."

"That's brilliant, Sam!" Hermione beamed. "Aurors have been working this case for weeks and came up empty. You look at it for three seconds, and … bamm." She slammed her hand on the table to emphasise her point.

Sam grinned at her.

"Can someone please divulge your great discovery to us ordinary mortals?" Harry asked dryly.

"It's easy, really," Hermione said. "Everyone assumed the missing hiker's were not connected. Just random disappearances throughout the country. But there's a pattern to it if you look at a map." She drew the outline of Britain into the air with her wand, and then pointed at a certain place on the map as Sam read aloud the location of the crime scenes.

"Oh," Dean said after a few seconds, but Harry still stared at the map.

"What am I seeing?"

"It's moving North towards –"

"Scotland," Harry finished her sentence, understanding dawning on him. " _Oh_."

"As soon as we hear something happening there, we need to move instantly," Dean said. All the angry words between him and the witch were forgotten when he went into hunter mode. "Does it look like a Wendigo to you?"

"I'm not sure," Sam replied. "But there are a few disappearances that don't match the pattern. Here." He pulled out a sheet of paper from the bottom. "Janine Amarillo. A witch. She went missing three days ago in the Forest of Dean. That's too far south to be our monster. Not much to go on, though. She was hiking alone. When she didn't check in for two days, her mother filed a missing person's report. Neither the local police nor the Auror Office have found anything useful."

Dean leapt to his feet. "I say we have a case."

* * *

Snow crunched under Dean's soles as he ventured deeper and deeper into the woods. Breaking branches and quiet footsteps behind him told him that the others were also fighting their way through the undergrowth. He'd been against the idea of Harry and Hermione joining him and his brother – they were no experienced hunters. But, finally, they had convinced him that much more dangerous beasts were out here than Wendigos, creatures only magic could defeat.

It was almost too dark to see anything. No moonlight broke through the impenetrable wall of clouds, heavy with snow. Only the feeble light of his torch and the wands of the two wizards were able to chase the darkness far enough away, so he could discern some of his surroundings.

The snow had begun to fall slowly but steadily from the sky. The flakes were silver in the dark, falling obliquely against the torch light, covering the frozen forest floor, and laying in heavy drifts against the trees. It was almost peaceful… almost. Dean never forgot that there was a monster lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting for its prey.

"We have to hurry or all clues of what happened to the missing hiker will be covered in snow," Dean whispered, his voice too loud in the forest that stood silent and frozen.

"We're almost there," Harry replied. "The Aurors traced Janine's tracks up to a lake. Then they lost her. There was no trace of her magic or scent. Nothing. No sign of a fight, or blood, or magic."

Dean nodded. They had gone over the facts before.

They climbed up a little hill, and there it was: a frozen lake on a small clearing, a fallen tree. It could have been beautiful were it not for the crime that must have happened here. Goosebumps ran over Deans back. The place seemed tainted and dark.

"I don't like this," Sam said quietly. He must be feeling it, too.

Harry said nothing, but Dean could see that his hands were shaking very slightly. Hermione was very close to him, as if to seek shelter or give him comfort.

"Do you think…?" she began, but Harry shook his head abruptly.

"Impossible."

"The magic involved…"

Harry's shoulders tensed. "It might've attracted some creatures, but…"

Dean's eyes wandered between them. He had the feeling a whole conversation had passed between them, from which he hadn't even got the gist of.

"What's going on?" he asked. "What are you not saying?"

The two wizards didn't answer, just held their wands higher and advanced into the clearing. When they had reached the lake, Hermione stopped abruptly. She waved her wand and a white ball of light rose high into the air, illuminating the whole place in a cold, silver glare. Harry walked up to the tree and seemed to carefully examine it.

"Here," he finally said, pointing at a circle of burnt earth and dead plants. "But I can't feel anything…"

"Feel what?" Sam asked, nervously scanning the forest around them for telltale marks of Wendigos.

"Dark magic," Harry replied. "Ron – a friend of us – killed a piece of Voldemort's soul here. Hermione thought that some microscopic small piece might have survived, but that's impossible." He turned around to the hunters. "What you feel is the lingering dark energy that was released when the Horcrux imploded."

" _Horcrux_?" Sam echoed.

"Not important," Hermione waved his question away.

"Yes, it is," Dean contradicted. "You're saying you killed a piece of someone's soul here?"

She narrowed her eyes. " _Voldemort's_ soul. Yes."

"That evil son of a bitch that everyone's so afraid of. Got it," Dean said. "But how exactly can you only kill a _piece_ of someone's soul?"

"We don't have the time to explain that now," Harry interjected. "Janine might be out there somewhere. And if the monster hasn't killed her yet, the temperatures will."

Dean gritted his teeth. He had to admit that the wizard was right, if he liked it or not. This place was creepy. The clearing was as silent as a graveyard; not the calm, comfortable silence of driving with a sleeping Sam in the Impala, but the silence of death. No birds were sitting in the trees, no squirrel was digging for nuts. No heartbeat, no warmth. Only cold.

"Have the Aurors checked the lake?" Sam asked.

Harry's free hand flew to his throat, and he took a deep breath. Dean had noticed that the boy tried to stay away from the pond as far as possible. Something had happened to him here, more than just killing a piece of a soul.

"Yes," Hermione replied quickly to cover up Harry's reaction. "Nothing."

"Then, let's spread out," Dean suggested. "That way we should be able to cover more ground. If you find something, call out!"

He had expected protest from the two wizards, but Harry and Hermione just nodded, turned, and walked without hesitation into the undergrowth.

Wind drove snowflakes into Dean's eyes as he climbed up a short, steep slope. His breath stood in clouds in front of his mouth, and he cursed. It was too cold to wander aimlessly through the woods.

Dean loved the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline, the satisfaction of killing a monster, of saving people. But this wasn't their normal M.O., and he felt uncomfortable.

The temperatures seemed to drop a few degrees with every step he made and soon his teeth started chattering. It was too dark to find anything in these woods; the flashlight barely illuminated the path in front of him. The girl was probably long dead; if the temperatures dropped below zero – which they probably had – she wouldn't even survive one night out here, and now it had been three already. The monster will have moved on, and all they would catch was a cold.

A deep hopelessness overcame him, like all happiness was suddenly sucked out of him.

The light of his torch seemed to falter; it flickered like a candle in the wind, and Dean cursed, slapping it against his palm to jumpstart the battery. It didn't help.

The blink of an eye later, the light went out and Dean stood in total darkness in the middle of the forest. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into his flesh, and he felt utterly lost.

That was when Dean knew that something was terribly wrong. A second later, he heard Sam cry out.

"Sam!" he screamed, breaking into a run, his arms outstretched to avoid obstacles. Branches got caught in his jacket, trying to hold him back, or viciously slashed across his face.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled back.

His brother wasn't far away. A moment later, Dean could make him out between the trees. He was in a crouched position, holding his head, and little sounds of pain escaped his mouth, as if he'd been fatally hurt. Fear clasped around Dean's heart, and his chest suddenly felt too tight.

Only a second later, he noticed that there was something else beside his brother – a creature, only visible because it was of a denser darkness than its surroundings. Dragging, rattling breaths echoed through the forest.

"Get away from him!" Dropping the useless flashlight, Dean drew his gun and emptied a round of bullets into the creature as it began to approach Sam, but all he succeeded in was diverting its attention to Dean himself.

Noiselessly, the creature glided over the ground towards him, and the deadened feeling inside of him grew. All happiness, all hope, seemed drained from him and was substituted with guilt, and pain, and despair. As though in a flashback, he was suddenly blown back into the past.

 _His mum screams, and the sound shatters him. Acrid smoke pervades his nostrils; heat; flames everywhere; the haunted face of his father as he carries Sammy out of the house..._

The creature edged closer, one bony, grey hand outstretched to grab him. Dean stepped back, but stumbled over a root and fell backwards. A strangled sound tore from his throat as new memories assaulted him.

 _Flames were devouring the dead body of his father, who was now rotting in hell, only to save Dean's pathetic, useless life..._

"Dean!" Sam called, his voice strangely husky. A shot echoed through the air, but the creature didn't even flinch.

Its icy fingers grabbed Dean, lifting him up effortlessly. Terrible screams reveberated through Dean's mind.

 _Sam calling his name just before he died, Castiel, Bobby, Charlie…_

He was on the verge of passing out when the creature suddenly released him. Dean crashed to the ground, numb and unable to cushion his fall. Quickly, he looked up and saw a white, silvery animal – an otter? – chasing after the creature that had just grabbed him. Instantly, it swam back through the air and tackled the monster that had homed in on Sam. Its mere presence seemed to chase away the darkness and cold. It seemed to be made of pure joy, and Dean felt like a weight was lifted from his chest.

"What the …?" he whispered, pushing himself into a sitting position. Where did that thing come from?

Then he saw Hermione running towards them, her wand outstretched.

Oh. _Magic_ , of course.

"Are you alright?" she asked, falling to her knees beside Dean. She looked pale in the silvery light of the otter.

"Yeah, I… What _was_ that?" Dean asked, struggling to his feet and walking over to Sam. His brother was violently pressing down on the scar in his hand – a sure sign he was fighting bad memories and was not sure what was real and what wasn't. A flash of metal caught Dean's eye and he bend down to pick up his colt. He must have dropped it when the monster had attacked him. It had been totally ineffective against the cloaked creatures.

"A _Dementor_ ," Hermione replied, her voice grave and dark. "They are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, so no wonder they live _here_." She swallowed thickly. "Dementors glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself... soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life." She shuddered, rubbing her arms as if cold. The otter etched closer to her, swimming around her and playing with her hair, as if it was trying to cheer her up.

Dean almost had to smile.

"How do you kill them?" Sam asked.

"You can't. They are immortal." Hermione shrugged. "Only a Patronus will keep them at bay. This ancient and mysterious charm conjures a magical guardian, a projection of all your most positive feelings. The Patronus Charm is difficult, and many witches and wizards are unable to produce a full, corporeal Patronus, a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom they share the deepest affinity." She pointed at the otter. "This is mine."

"That means without you…" Sam began.

She nodded. "You'd be dead… or worse than that actually. You'd have received the kiss."

"What? You're saying these sons of bitches are looking for someone to snog?" Dean threw in, feeling a little sick.

"Yes and no. That's how they suck your soul out of your body. You'll just... exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever... lost," Hermione explained.

Dean shot his brother a sideways glance, but didn't say anything.

"Thank you for saving us, then," Sam said, ignoring Dean's gaze. "I have no desire of losing my soul again."

Hermione opened her mouth to fire a question at the brothers, but Dean was faster, "Where's Harry?"

"Oh." Hermione spun around, scanning the forest. "Bugger." With a flick of her wand, she sent the otter into the direction she'd come from. "Go, help Harry." The silvery animal obeyed and its glow was quickly lost between the trees.

"Come on." She began to follow her Patronus. "You were lucky it were only two."

Dean felt the unnatural coldness before he heard the characteristic rattling breaths. He froze and turned around slowly.

"I don't think it were only two," he said.

Behind them were at least five tall, wraith-like creatures, their long cloaks dragging over the forest floor as they glided towards them. They must have waited for the Patronus to disappear, and now, they were ready to devour their defenceless prey.

* * *

 **Please review. ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm back. Sorry for the long wait and the short chapter. I literally had no time to write at all the last few weeks, but I wanted to give you an update. That's the reason it turned out rather short...**

 **Thank you to everyone who's reading this and a special thanks to all my reviewers!**

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 _"Me? Books and cleverness._

 _There are more important things: friendship and bravery."_

-Hermione Granger

* * *

 ** _Before:_**

 _Where's Harry?"_

 _"Oh." Hermione spun around, scanning the forest. "Bugger." With a flick of her wand, she sent the otter into the direction she'd come from. "Go, help Harry." The silvery animal obeyed and its glow was quickly lost between the trees._

 _"Come on." She began to follow her Patronus. "You were lucky it were only two."_

 _Dean felt the unnatural coldness before he heard the characteristic rattling breaths. He froze and turned around slowly._

 _"I don't think it were only two," he said._

 _Behind them were at least five tall, wraith-like creatures, their long cloaks dragging over the forest floor as they glided towards them. They must have waited for the Patronus to disappear, and now they were ready to devour their defenceless prey._

* * *

5\. Even A Hero Needs Saving

The Dementors advanced on the trio with super-human speed, too fast for Hermione or the Winchester to do anything but stare at them, frozen. Hermione had no chance to summon back her Patronus, and she felt it vanish into thin air. Instantly, despair grabbed her with its icy fingers and memories assaulted her.

 _Harry, lying on the ground before Voldemort. Lifeless…_

Hermione tightened her fingers around her wand, trying desperately to summon a spark of happiness. " _Expecto_ … _Expecto Patronum_!" she rasped.

Wisps of silvery light flowed out of her wand, stopping the Dementor that had reached for her and creating a thin shield around the trio. It was enough to protect them for now but not enough to chase the Dementors away.

The momentary reprieve from the cruel, cold power of the Dementor's was all she needed to pull herself together, pushing the memory fragments aside that threatened to drown her. She had to get the Muggles out of here!

"Take the watch!" Hermione yelled at the Winchesters next to her, stretching out her left hand that held her emergency portkey, which would transport them back to Grimmauld place.

Sam was pressing his hands over his ears, as if to block out some terrible noise, and Dean's face was contorted, as though burning inside. She could see the agony the Dementors had caused the both of them, and her primary goal was to save them. Harry could hold his own without her for the moment.

"Quickly!" Hermione screamed. She could feel her shapeless Patronus fading. They had only seconds before it would give in under the attack of the Dementors around them and disperse.

Sam grabbed the watch sluggishly, his teeth still clenched in pain.

"Hold on tight," Hermione ordered. "You'll be safe in a second."

"What about you?" Dean asked, his fingers only millimetres away from the portkey.

"Why would you care?" Hermione snapped. "Now go!"

They didn't have time for some petty argument. The Dementors had formed a circle around them, standing in tight rows, impossible to penetrate. And only an incredibly strong Patronus would be able to chase them away. Hermione knew she couldn't do it. She knew her Patronus was not nearly as strong as Harry's and she might not be able to fight them all of… and still, she couldn't leave. It had nothing to do with Gryffindor bravery, or stupidity for that matter. Hermione was never reckless or unaware of the consequences of her actions. And here, in this situation, even she had to admit that her chances of success were pretty low. You couldn't outrun a Dementor.

But… _but_ she also couldn't leave Harry behind. She didn't know where he was and if he was alright. It was as simple as that. Her staying was about loyalty, about friendship. Hermione knew Harry, too, wouldn't hesitate one second to put himself at risk if it meant saving her.

And that was what she was going to do. She was going to save Harry. Because she was Hermione-freaking-Granger, and she was smart, and she would work through this trial just as she did with every other case she happened across. Hermione thrust aside her fears and thought of a plan. She was a thinker. It was what she did. It was what she was good at.

She would apparate back to the lake as soon as the Winchesters were safe. Then she had about thirty seconds before the Dementors realised that their prey was mere hundred metres away. Thirty seconds to conjure her otter Patronus and to locate Harry.

It wasn't impossible.

And that was all she needed to know.

Dean narrowed his eyes at her, about to retort something, but Hermione wouldn't have it. She pushed him, so that his hand automatically touched the watch – and in the same second, she lifted her Patronus shield and activated the portkey.

The last thing she saw of them was Dean's surprised look and Sam's pained expression. The blink of an eye later, she was alone, surrounded by Dementors, and without her Patronus.

However, before their dark power could overwhelm her, she turned on the spot and disapparated.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm very sorry for the long wait! Thank you to everyone who reviewed, it reminded me I had a chapter to finish :) I'm sorry I couldn't reply personally...**

 **I hope this chapter makes up for it. It was hard work, believe me.**

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 _What I'm good at... is slicing throats. I ain't a father. I'm a killer. And there's no changing that. I know that now._

– Dean Winchester, 06x06 'You can't handle the truth'

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6\. Whiskey and Misery

The portkey catapulted the Winchester brothers into the kitchen at Grimmauld place. Dean reached for the chair but stumbled, crashing to the floor. Sam didn't fare much better, falling against the cupboard and to the floor.

"Sammy?" Dean called out, pushing himself up quickly.

"Yeah," Sam groaned. "I'm okay."

Dean stretched his hand out to his younger brother and pulled him up from the ground.

"Thanks," Sam mumbled with an awkward smile. "What the hell was that?"

Dean carelessly tossed his jacket over a chair and kicked off his boots. "Dementors."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I know." Absent-mindedly, he rubbed the scar on his hand. "You think she's alright?"

"She's a bloody witch. Of course, she's alright," Dean grunted, trying to cover up how uneasy he felt. The horrible memories were still sharp in his mind, etched into his brain, and he knew there would be nightmares tonight. But he also knew it would be no different for Sam. He had only a vague idea what his brother's nightmares would be about, but he had the suspicion it would be Lucifer.

Dean couldn't deny that he worried about the two wizards out there in the cold. But there was absolutely nothing he could do to help them, and that frustrated him to no end.

"Don't they have a bloody fridge?" he cursed, opening cupboards at random. Finally, he found what he was looking for. "Ah, whiskey at least."

"Dean!" Sam protested, but Dean didn't care. Maybe alcohol would keep the nightmares away. He poured himself a generous glass and emptied it in one gulp. The whiskey burned down his throat to his stomach, but he welcomed the feeling. Finally, some warmth spread though him. He'd felt frozen to the bones.

He was just about to pour himself another glass when a loud crashing sound came from upstairs. The brothers exchanged a meaningful look, then they went from static to being in a flurry of motion. Taking two steps at once, Dean bounded up the stairs, followed closely by his brother. Two figures were kneeling on the carpet, snow decorating their hats and coats. They were bent over, as if in pain, and shivering violently.

"Kreacher!" Harry choked out before either of the Winchesters could say anything.

With a loud _pop_ , a mouse-like creature with large ears appeared, wearing a white bed linen like a roman toga. This time Dean didn't react, didn't even flinch. After what he'd seen tonight, no magical creature could shock him. Harry and Hermione obviously needed help, and the creature seemed to be their friend. He needed to prove to himself that _he_ was in control of his hunter's reflexes, they didn't control _him_.

"Can you make some hot tea, please?" Harry rasped. "And chocolate would be nice."

"Yes, Master Harry," Kreacher replied, indicating a bow.

"Oh, and some Pepper-up Potion," Harry added, struggling to his feet. He was sickly pale and visibly exhausted. His lips were almost blue from the cold

Kreacher nodded and disappeared with another loud _crack_.

Leaning heavily against the wall, Harry scrutinised the two Winchesters, who stood still rooted to the spot. "You okay?"

"We're fine," Sam replied quickly. "Hermione got us out in time."

When she heard her name, Hermione lifted her head. It seemed to take her a moment to realise where she was – her eyes were still unfocused, her mind in the past. But she pulled herself together and tried to stand up, but her legs didn't carry her weight and she slumped against the hall-stand.

Dean leapt forward, catching her elbow in time and steadying her. "Easy."

"I'm okay," Hermione said, but she didn't fight his touch to his surprise. "I need to… I'm so cold… cold…"

Her words were nothing more than a whisper, incoherent and clipped, almost as if she wasn't even aware of them. With sluggish movements, she tugged at her coat and removed it. Suddenly, a familiar rusty smell reached Dean's nose, even before he noticed the scarlet liquid soaking through her sleeve and dripping down on the carpet.

"Fuck!" he cursed, reaching for her arm. "Were you bitten?"

Hermione drew away from him as quickly as possible, her hurt arm pressed protectively against her chest. "I'm okay, I'm –"

"Nonsense," Dean interrupted her. "Let me look at that."

Suddenly, he had a wand pointed at the spot between his eyes. "I said don't touch me!" Hermione hissed, turning from being almost unconscious into aggressive, like a caged animal.

Slowly, Dean stepped back, raising his hands as if to surrender. "Fine. Let your stubbornness kill you. I couldn't care less."

Before the situation could escalate further, the strange creature came back and Dean spun around.

"Tea's in the library, Master Harry, and here's the Pepper-up." Kreacher handed both Harry and Hermione a little phial with a red liquid.

Harry downed the potion hastily. Instantly, the colour returned to his face, steam erupting out of his ears. "Do you want some, too?" he asked the Winchesters. His voice was already firmer, less raw.

Sam eyed the potion that Kreacher was offering him carefully, then looked back at Harry. Concluding that it wouldn't do any harm, he accepted the phial and uncorked it.

"Dean?" Harry asked.

Dean shook his heads in sharp movements, still watching Hermione closely who had also drunk the potion. "I don't touch witch stuff. Whiskey is my potion."

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. The effects of the potion were remarkable. At once, Sam felt warmer, his mind shaper, his thoughts clearer, and his strength slowly returned.

"Kreacher, can you run me a bath, please?" Hermione choked out. She looked slightly better, but still too pale. Her hands were still shaking and she had to brace herself against the wall to stay upright.

"Of course," Kreacher replied curtly and disappeared again. A second later, they could hear water running in the upper floors.

"I'll go clean up and then to bed," Hermione said to Harry.

The boy nodded. "Kreacher will bring you some tea."

"I'm _fine_ , Harry."

"You don't look it, Hermione," Harry contradicted in a voice that tolerated no argument. "Dean's right. Stop being so stubborn and let me help you."

They stared at each other for a few moments, then something in her gaze melted and she gave in. Almost instantly, her knees buckled beneath her as if she'd only kept herself upright by sheer will power. Within the blink of an eye, Harry was at her side.

"Damn it, Hermione. Your arm… why didn't you…?" Harry cursed under his breath, gently stretching out Hermione's left arm. The whole front of her shirt was soaked in blood, and the sight hit Dean like a punch in the stomach. She was obviously in pain, but she'd rather die than let him help her. The thought twisted something in his chest.

"Come on," he said, grabbing his brother's elbow. "Let's go to the library."

"But –"

"We can't help," Dean interrupted him, ignoring the muffled sounds of pain that escaped Hermione's lips and stabbed him right in the heart. Turning his back to the two wizards, he stomped up the stairs and into the library where a crackling fire and mugs filled with steaming tea were waiting for them.

It said a lot about how exhausted Sam was that he didn't even stop to admire the books but went straight for the armchair. He looked better than before, though, Dean noticed. It must be that strange potion Harry had given him.

"What is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam asked angrily when the other Winchester grabbed the bottle of whiskey that stood beside the tea.

"Shut up, Sammy."

"No, really, man. Hermione's bleeding out in front of you and you start an argument with her?"

" _She_ fucking started it!" Dean said, throwing back the Whiskey as if it were water. "I tried to help her, and she attacked me like a wildcat."

"Maybe because you told her you thought she was evil!" Sam shot back. "Did you not realise that she wasn't really there? She was caught in a horrible memory, and then you expect her to trust you when you've done nothing but antagonise her. God, you held a knife to her throat only this morning."

"But…" Dean silenced himself. He knew damn well that his brother was right, and he didn't like that one bit. A wave of self-hatred washed over him, taking his breath away for a second. Fuck, she might have died – it had looked like _a lot_ of blood, dripping down her arm, ruining the carpet, dying her beautiful yellow jumper red…

Dean forced himself to not follow that train of thought. He didn't like the guilt that these images sparked in him. He wanted to continue being distrustful and pushing her away. Because he couldn't let her in. She was a witch. She'd only hurt him.

If Dean was honest with himself, he definitely knew that he was attracted to the girl. But he also _knew_ this would end badly.

"She saved our lives tonight," Sam continued, softer. "And you still insist that magic is evil."

"Because it _is_ evil, Sam." Dean's voice had no real power behind it, but he was too stubborn to back down from his opinion. Besides, he _was_ right. The Dementors that had attacked them were clearly connected to black magic.

Sam shook his head. "No. Her magic saved us."

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again. It was no use to discuss this topic over and over again; neither of them would admit to being wrong.

After a few minutes of icy silence, in which only the sounds of the fire could be heard, Dean murmured, "I wonder what was wrong with her arm…"

He couldn't delete Hermione's image from his mind, and it bothered him. The urge to kill whatever had hurt her was unexpected; yes, he loved killing monsters, he'd wanted to blow off some steam tonight. But this was different. He wanted to kill the creature because it had hurt _her_. And that scared him.

Sam's gaze flickered to his brother and, after a few seconds, he replied, "I don't know. She didn't say anything about the Dementors biting someone. So either, another monster attacked them, or…"

"Or it was an already existing wound," Dean finished his sentence, sitting down on the armchair opposite of him. "I thought so, too. Harry didn't seem surprised to find her bleeding like she'd cut open her wrists."

"You don't think…" Sam whispered.

Dean shook his head. "No. She's not the type. Something bad happened to her. Maybe she was attacked by a monster –"

"She was," a hard voice interrupted them and their heads snapped around. Harry's shadow stood in the door frame, only his glasses reflecting the firelight like small mirrors. At once, Sam leapt to his feet.

"How's she?"

Slowly, Harry stepped into the room. The flickering light illuminated his face that had previously been hidden by shadows, and, contrary to Dean's expectation, he didn't look angry. He just looked incredibly tired. The old-soul-in-a-young-body – look was back in his eyes.

"Fine," he replied quietly, sitting down on the armchair closest to the fire.

"But her arm…" Sam began.

"Magic makes wounds heal much faster," Harry explained, reaching for tea and chocolate. "Don't worry about it."

"So what attacked her?" The words had escaped Dean's lips before he could stop them and he pressed his lips together, angry with himself.

Harry's gaze turned sharp.

"I mean… you said it was a monster, and since we're here to hunt monsters… I thought we should know," Dean explained lamely.

Harry scrutinised him for a few seconds, as if judging if he could be trusted with the information. Coming to a conclusion, he replied, "You don't need to hunt it. The monster is dead and gone."

"But her arm…?" Sam threw in.

Guilt seemed to flicker across Harry's features, but he quickly shoved the emotion aside before Dean could be sure. "Dark magic," was all he said, but the brothers understood. Traces of dark magic must have infested her wound, never allowing it to heal completely. And the strain of tonight's hunt and possibly even the attack of the Dementors had caused the wound to open again.

"So, the creatures before… were they also created by dark magic?" Sam changed the topic and some of the tension in the room vanished.

Harry nodded. "Nobody knows exactly how they came into being, but yes. Dark magic played a role."

Dean threw Sam a look saying _I-told-you-so_ , but Sam deliberately ignored it.

"Hermione said they can't be killed," he added.

"Also true," Harry confirmed. "The only thing keeping them away is a Patronus. Thank Merlin that Hermione came for me. The Dementors took me by surprise." He frowned. "Their behaviour was… _off_. Normally, they don't appear in packs. They used to guard the Wizarding prison, but after Voldemort's defeat, the new administration cancelled their contract. They stay mostly at Azkaban; they seem to like the place - as much as a Dementor is able to _like_ anything at all."

"So they don't usually hunt humans in the forest?" Dean enquired, shifting effortlessly into hunter mode. Monsters he knew, monsters he could deal with. People were more complicated.

"No." Harry shook his head. "I understand why they were attracted to the place, but… it felt like they wanted to stop us, to chase us away."

Sam leaned forward. "You mean they were protecting the creature that abducted Janine?"

Harry absent-mindedly rubbed his scar. "Maybe." Then he shook himself, emptied his cup of tea, and stood up. "I'm afraid the rest of the questions has to wait until tomorrow. I'm knackered."

"Good night," Sam said.

Harry nodded. In the doorway, he paused. "Before I forget, we're leaving at 8 am. tomorrow…" he glanced at his watch, correcting himself, "or should I say today?" With another nod, he disappeared up the stairs.

"What do you make of all that?" Dean asked his brother quietly.

"Hm…" was all Sam replied, seemingly deep in thought. "I hate that we couldn't do anything for the girl."

Dean clenched his teeth. He'd go back in a heartbeat if there were only the slightest chance that Janine was still alive. But if the cold hadn't killed her, the Dementors had got to her. He knew there was nothing they could do, but that didn't mean he didn't feel guilty about it. They were here to save people, after all; and so far, he'd only succeeded in hurting them.

"And Hermione…" Sam added quietly, and Dean flinched at her name, catching himself once more thinking about her. "Harry didn't tell us everything."

"No," Dean agreed, pouring himself another whiskey. He wanted to be numb, to feel nothing, to forget this night, to purge it from his memory. "But I guess it's not his secret to tell." He was quiet for a few seconds, debating his next words. "I know that I overreacted."

A small smile tugged at the corner's of Sam's mouth, accepting the words as the apology they were meant to be. "I'm not the one you have to tell that."

Dean sighed. "I know."

"Well, I'll hit the sack," Sam yawned, standing up, but Dean didn't move, just stared at his full whiskey glass. "What about you?"

Dean paused, the glass half-way to his lips. "I'm not tired," he replied and they both knew that it was a lie. He figured no sleep was better than the nightmares that were waiting for him.

His brother nodded quietly and closed the door behind him, leaving Dean alone with his dark thoughts.

* * *

 **I hope you liked it! Please review. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hi guys, another chapter for you as a sort of second advent gift. :) I hope you're still reading this - so give me a sign (or a review)!  
**

 **Enjoy!**

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 _There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them._

 _– Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

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7\. A Heart to Heart

It was almost dawn when Dean climbed up the stairs to his room. He'd nearly finished the bottle of whiskey and was hoping to simply pass out on his bed, slipping into unconsciousness instead of sleep.

Sometimes, nightmares were worse than real life. When awake, you could defend yourself, you could act – in a nightmare you were reduced to a spectator of your own memories, forced to watch, to suffer, to run, but never able to escape. He didn't want to see hell; he didn't want to go through his brother dying again because the pain would be just as fresh as if it had happened only moments ago.

The wooden stairs creaked under Dean's weight, and he paused as he reached the topmost step. There was a faint strip of light beneath Hermione's door, indicating that he wasn't the only one awake in the dead of the night. Maybe he should talk to her. Some things were easier to say in the cover the darkness, the intimacy of the night.

Before he could change his mind, Dean walked up to her door and knocked.

A few seconds later, he heard a lock being turned, and then the door was eased open. Dark eyes peered through the gap between the door and the frame. When Hermione recognised him, her eyes narrowed.

"What?"

That was a good question. Now, standing in front of her, Dean didn't know what to say. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he asked, but realised the second the words had left his mouth that it came out all wrong.

"Why would you care?" she snapped, about to close the door again, but he stopped her.

"Sorry. That's not… that's not what I meant." He took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologise for accusing you of being evil. I was rude and unfair, and I'm sorry."

The door opened a little further, and Dean could discern her face. The light behind her framed her hair like a halo, and, not for the first time, he thought that she was beautiful.

"Are you drunk?" Hermione asked.

Dean snorted. "Just accept the apology, Hermione. Do you have to question everything?"

A crease appeared between her brows as she took in his appearance. There was a slight slur in his speech, and his movements were a little sluggish. She could smell the whiskey in his breath. But she didn't blame him. The encounter with Dementors was something she'd also like to suppress. " _Fine_. Thank you," she murmured.

Dean let out a sigh of relief. "Good." He really felt the alcohol now, the exhaustion. Hermione didn't look much better, so what was she doing that kept her awake? Leaning casually against the doorframe, he asked, "Why are you still up?"

Between the door and the frame, he sneaked a glance into her bedroom. A single light on the desk illuminated her room and tinged the walls into an even deeper yellow than they already were. From his perspective, it seemed that bookshelves covered an entire side of the wall. Pictures decorated the desk and the bookshelf, moving pictures. It didn't look like a guest room… it looked like Hermione was actually _living_ here, despite her claim she stayed at that boarding school.

Hermione followed his gaze, pausing at her desk, then turned back to him, almost defensive. "I could ask you the same."

Dean flinched. He seemed to always say the wrong things with her. He was about to leave when Hermione said, "Paperwork, you know?" She sighed. "I have to write a report about tonight's hunt."

"And that couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but Dean interrupted her. "Forget it. I understand."

He did. She tried to cheat the nightmares just like him. But work seemed to be her drug of choice.

"So why are you up?" Hermione returned the question.

"Jet lag," he lied smoothly.

"Ah."

They were both perfectly aware why neither of them was sleeping. But Hermione would be damned before she admitted anything. She knew Bellatrix would visit her as soon as she closed her eyes, and she wanted to postpone that rendezvous as long as possible. Her arm still hurt, despite the pain killers.

Dean seemed to have his own demons to fight. From the little she knew about him, he'd suffered so much, lost so many people.

And still, he stood in front of her, as if it was perfectly normal to be here, the most ordinary thing in the world. She wondered what goodbyes lay behind him, what decisions had brought him here, to right this moment. She wondered what had made him the way he was.

Dean shifted his weight, uncomfortable under her gaze, and Hermione realised she'd stared at him. She could forgive the way he behaved. There must be reasons for it. So she said, "I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's just put it behind us, yeah?"

Dean nodded slowly. "I was an ignorant asshole, Hermione. I see now…" His gaze flickered to her arm. White bandages peeked out from under the sleeve of her pyjama. "I _understand_ now, I mean."

She noticed his gaze and automatically shifted, so her hurt arm was hidden behind the door. "You should sleep, Dean. You've got work to do tomorrow."

"Listen. I've just got to say this before…" he hesitated, "Thank you for saving our lives tonight."

A ghost of a smile played across her face. "You're welcome. Good night, Dean." With that, she closed the door.

"Good night, Hermione," Dean whispered back although she couldn't hear it.

* * *

The next evening, Sam used his chance to explore Harry's library. The day hadn't been as bad as he thought I would be. Dean had behaved, for once. Nobody had been threatened, or shot, or magically disarmed. There had been no fights between his brother and Hermione either. Sam wasn't blind. Something had changed between them, like they'd come to a truce.

So, all in all, the day hadn't been so bad.

The doors to the library creaked slightly as pushed them open. Dean was in the kitchen with Harry, plotting the next hunt, but Sam didn't crave killing monsters like his brother. He preferred doing some research.

Rounding a bookshelf, he realised someone had beat him to it. Hermione sat at the large table, a roll of parchment in front of her. She looked tired, no – _exhausted_. Sam was reasonably sure that she hadn't slept at all. He knew the signs too well.

He wanted to retreat silently, to leave her to her work, but Hermione looked up in just that moment. It was apparent that she'd been quite aware of his presence.

"Sam," she said, smiling slightly.

Hesitantly, Sam approached her and sat down in the chair opposite of her. "Watcha doing?"

Hermione sighed and stretched he right wrist, in which she'd been holding a feather. "Completing an essay for Transfiguration. It's due in two days, and I still have another inch to write." She shook her head, as if she'd committed a mortal sin.

"Transfiguration?" Sam echoed. "Is that a subject at Hog- Hogwarts?"

A smile ghosted across Hermione's features. "Yes." From somewhere, she conjured a thick, often-read book. "Here, read that. It tells you all about it."

Sam leaned forward, deciphering the title. _Hogwarts: A History_. Interesting. "Thank you," he replied honestly. Hermione nodded and returned to her essay.

"I can't believe I've been a hunter for so long and never came across a natural witch," Sam exclaimed all of a sudden.

Hermione paused and looked up. "Maybe you didn't know it. We're good at hiding."

"Maybe," Sam agreed half-heartedly. "Or maybe we've just been too stupid to notice it."

Hermione chuckled.

"Anyhow, I want to know more. Tell me more."

Hermione scrutinised him for a moment, then she seemed to reach a decision. Putting the feather aside, she asked, "About what?"

Sam let his gaze wander around and finally stopped at the picture above the fireplace. It was Harry and Hermione and two other red-heads, smiling and laughing, pushing each other out of the frame. It wasn't the Hermione in front of him or the Harry downstairs. They were younger. But not only that, they seemed less world-weary, lighter, full of energy. It must have been taken before the war, Sam concluded.

"That's Harry, Ron, Ginny, and I," Hermione explained, having followed his gaze. "Ron's Harry's best friend. Ginny's Ron's sister and Harry's girlfriend." A sad edge had crept into her voice, and Sam's gaze snapped back towards her.

"What happened to them?"

"What do you – _oh_. No, nothing like that. They're still alive and kicking. Ginny's at Hogwarts. Ron… Ron's living at home. He's working at his brother's shop in between Auror missions. He… well…" She silenced herself, and Sam sensed that there was a whole lot of history that she wasn't telling. But he wouldn't pry.

So he decided to switch the topic. "I think I understand your world a little bit more. But… there's this whole lot of history that always gets mentioned, but everyone dances around the topic itself as if it was poisonous."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow.

"Voldemort," Sam clarified. "The war."

He felt almost guilty for the shadow that instantly darkened Hermione's features. He didn't like reminding her of bad memories, but it was something he needed to know.

"I see," she replied barely audible. "Well, there's one thing you have to understand if you want to understand the war. In the Wizarding world, there are three 'kinds' of wizards. Muggleborns." She pointed at herself. "Me, for example. A witch or wizard that was born by non-magical parents."

Sam nodded, a little confused to where this was leading.

"Halfbloods," she continued. "As Harry. His mum was muggleborn, his dad pureblood. That leads us to the last classification. Purebloods." A cynical smile twisted her lips. "These witches and wizards can trace their ancestry back to William the Conqueror or whatever. They are proud of their bloodline that supposedly only consists of purely magical people, other purebloods. If someone married a Halfblood, or, Merlin forbid, a Muggleborn, they were extinguished from their family trees. Blood-traitors." She snorted.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "So, the war was between Purebloods and… the others?"

"You're fast," she nodded. "Yes. There was a man called Tom Riddle – a Halfblood actually, but his mother was a Gaunt, her blood-line tracing back to Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts. Anyway, Tom Riddle wanted to became the most powerful, the most feared wizard in the world. And he hated Muggles and Muggleborns with all his heart, playing right into the hands of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Pureblood families with the most influence in the magical world. They sit behind the scenes everywhere." She chuckled. "I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but _they_ pull the strings in the Ministry of Magic, they even have influence at Hogwarts."

"It doesn't sound like a conspiracy theory," Sam replied. "It sounds terrifying."

"Well, that was before the war," Hermione explained quickly. "A lot has changed. Anyway, Tom Riddle called himself _Lord Voldemort_ and started a war to usurp power and eradicate everyone who was, in his eyes, not worth of magic." He hand automatically flickered towards her left forearm where Bellatrix had left her mark. "People like me."

"Wha- But…" Sam quickly silenced himself. He could understand some of her anger now. She wasn't accepted by the Wizardkind for what her parents were, not accepted in the 'real' world because she always would need to hide a part of herself, and not accepted by him and Dean because she possessed something she was not supposed to possess. Why she had forgiven Dean for the words he'd spoken was beyond Sam. But Hermione most certainly didn't want his pity.

"What happened?" he asked instead.

So Hermione began to talk. She told him about a prophecy that was made before either of them was born, about a boy whose parents died on Halloween; about a mother who sacrificed herself for her son. Something inside Sam stung at that. It sounded a little like his own mum, dying over his crib. She told him about herself, about discovering that she was a witch, about going to Hogwarts. Soon, Sam hung to her every word when she told him the story of her past seven years. He knew she skipped bits, condensed things, but it was fine. It _was_ a lot of history.

Finally, she arrived at their year on the run, explained what a Horcrux was, told him about the lake where the Dementors had attacked them yesterday. And, finally, it all made sense. Their evil presence at that place.

"That's why the Dementors haunt the lake!" Sam exclaimed, interrupting her.

Hermione nodded. "Probably."

"Do you think that's the reason all the monsters suddenly came out in the open, hunting humans, attacking your school?"

Hermione tilted her head. "The Horcruxes?"

"No, Voldemort," Sam replied.

"That's the hypothesis, yes," she said, smoothing her hair out of her face. "He gathered lots of evil creatures to aid him in the war against us."

"Mhm," Sam murmured, deep in thought. There had to be more. Why had the creatures become so careless, hunting out in the open? They must know hunters would be coming. And Voldemort was gone now, wasn't he?

"So these creatures listened to a wizard? That seems… unlikely," Sam added after a pause. "Are you sure Voldemort's dead?"

"Yes," Hermione replied firmly. "As dead as can be. Harry killed him… or rather, he killed himself. The killing curse rebounded."

Sam frowned. "Mhm..."

"Maybe there's something else they want…" Hermione muttered. "But what could that be?"

Sam let his eyes wander through the library, over bookshelves packed with leather-bound books, to the flickering flames in the fireplace, and finally, paused at the window. It was dark outside, so the glass reflected the light – almost a perfect mirror. The door to the hallway was ajar and a thin strip of light slanted through the small gap into the library. Sam was sure, however, he'd closed the door.

He'd stared so intently at the window that Hermione half-turned around to see what he was looking at, but she didn't notice the light of the slightly open door. Quickly, Sam focused back on her to prevent her from discovering the shadow behind the door.

"I'm okay… just thinking," he explained quickly. "We've encountered many creatures, but yesterday…"

Hermione pulled a face, her eyes full of sympathy. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that happened. I've been researching a way to keep them away without magic, but it seems impossible."

She sighed tiredly, massaging her temples.

"Don't worry about it," Sam replied gently. His eyes darted to the window to find that the shadow behind the door was gone. He was reasonably sure it had been Dean. "Thank you for saving us yesterday," he added quickly.

Hermione smiled slightly. "Of course." She paused. "Sam? Can I ask you something?"

Sam frowned at the anxiousness in her tone. "Yeah, sure."

"What did you…" she hesitated again, "What did you feel? Yesterday, when the Dementors attacked, I mean."

Sam swallowed thickly. "It wasn't really about what I felt. It was the absence of feeling, no love, no warmth. Just cold and empty. A void. And the only thing filling the void was…" He subconsciously rubbed his arms, as if cold. "Death, I think."

Hermione nodded slowly.

"I was dragged back through memories… It was all so fast, as if the Dementor's greed brought them to the surface all at once. For a second, I was back in the cage with Lucifer; then, I saw Dean ripped apart by Hellhounds; then, the fire consuming my father's body…" His voice broke.

Hermione's eyes were gigantic, and Sam could definitely detect pity in them, but also something different. Self-loathing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't've asked."

"It's fine," the younger Winchester replied.

Hermione felt pathetic. Sam's worst memories were far more terrible than hers, and he hadn't been a complete mess afterwards. His worst memory was being tortured by the devil – what was Bellatrix in comparison? How could she still let that horrible woman haunt her dreams even after her death?

Sam had suffered so much more. Had lost his mother too early, his father, his brother, his friends. And she? Harry was still alive, even though she dreamt of that moment over and over again, his lifeless body in Hagrid's arms. And her parents… they were simply gone. Vanished. Monica and Wendell Wilkins never boarded a plane to Australia. Hermione didn't know what happened to them. Maybe, they'd been kidnapped by Death Eaters on their way to the airport. Maybe, they'd had a car accident. Maybe they'd been tortured and murdered in some dungeon. Maybe they'd travelled to France instead.

Hermione didn't know and likely would never know. Magic hadn't been able to trace them, to find them. Hermione had made sure of that before she'd left. Now it was working against her.

But still, it was nothing against the tragedies Sam and Dean had went through.

At least, they still had each other. She had Harry, true, and he was her brother in all ways but blood.

With shaking fingers, Hermione rolled up the parchment and sent the books back to the shelves with a swish of her wand. She had to leave. If she stayed one more second in Sam's presence, she'd tell him everything. She didn't know why, but she felt she could trust him...

And she didn't want that. She barely knew him, after all.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione choked out, leaping to her feet. Her chair scratched loudly over the wooden floor.

"You looked exhausted," Sam replied diplomatically. "Sleep well."

Hermione grimaced, nodded, then fled the library.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I'm sorry I didn't manage to post earlier. Normally, I have my stories written and only need to edit them. This one, however, is written and then posted instantly. I moved back to Germany, and then, I travelled two months through South America, so it was impossible for me to write anything.**

 **Sorry.**

 **Thank you for all your reviews and comments. Thank you for being so patient with me ;)**

 **On another note, I went back to the first chapter to edit the information about Hermione's parents. I'd originally written that Hermione went to Australia and reversed the memory spell. The last chapter contradicted this, of course. Thank you to the fabulous _Lauramichca_ , who pointed that out!**

* * *

 _"_ _It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here."_

 _\- Sam Winchester, 01x02 Wendigo_

* * *

8\. Evil That Devours

Dean's bedroom door suddenly banged open and he spun around. It was six thirty in the morning and he'd only just got up. Hermione stood in the doorframe, already fully dressed, beaming at him. There was a newspaper in her hand, which probably was the cause of her excitement.

"Dude, have you never heard of knocking?" Dean grunted before she could say a word. "I could've been naked."

She raised an eyebrow at him, her gaze travelling over the jeans and T-Shirt he'd slept in. The Winchesters, Harry, Hermione, and a bunch of other wizards had successfully hunted a Vampire nest last night, and he'd been dead on his feet when they'd come back. So he'd simply forgotten to change and just passed out on the bed, fully clothed.

"I'm not a _dude_ ," she said pointedly.

He waved her protest aside. "What's up?"

"Our monster hit again. The possible Wendigo," Hermione announced, the smile returning to her face.

"What? Where?" At once, Dean was at her side, trying to grab the paper.

" _Loch Lomond and The Trossachs National Park_. Not far from Helensburgh," she replied steadily, pointing at a small article in the _Helensburgh Advertiser_ , the local newspaper.

* * *

 **Monster of Loch Lomond attacks**

Family vanishes in Loch Lomond area. Hikers' disappearance baffles authorities.

 _Yesterday_. A 44-year-old male, his wife (40) and two children (12 and 10) did not return from their trip to the area around Loch Lomond. The tourists were reported missing by the owner of a Bed-and-Breakfast in Helensburgh. Their car, a black VW Golf, was found at a parking lot near the Loch, and the family is believed to have gone for a day hike from there. Local authorities continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing […]

* * *

Dean had barely finished reading when Hermione snatched the paper away. "Get ready and wake Sam. I'm gonna tell Harry," she said and dashed down the stairs.

Dean didn't hesitate for a second. If it was a Wendigo, the chances were good that at least some family members were still alive. He walked over to Sam's door and pounded on it. "Hey, sleeping beauty. Get ready. We have a case."

A shuffling noise behind the door told him that Sam had heard him. That was enough. He quickly went back to his room and packed the weapons. Unfortunately, they hadn't brought the flamethrower from the Bunker, and he certainly didn't want to face the Wendigo – _if_ it was a Wendigo – empty handed or trust the wizards to handle it. So, just in case, he'd prepared something else. Molotov cocktails.

The son of a bitch wouldn't know what hit him.

* * *

Even though, it were the beginnings of March, old snow still covered the ground in Southern Scotland. It was cold outside. Slate-coloured clouds came rolling over the Scottish mountains, and cold north wind blew the first raindrops towards the town.

Hermione placed her icy hands around a steaming cup of tea and exhaled a sigh of relief. After the Winchesters had interviewed the owner of the Bed-and-Breakfast and Hermione and Harry had talked with the police, they'd met up in a little pub. Hermione was glad to be finally inside.

"Anything new?" Sam asked, matter-of-fact.

Harry shook his head. "The police found the car at an empty parking lot. Not many people go for hikes these days. The weather is too unstable." He glanced outside, where – as if having listened to his words – it had started to pour. "Anyway, they scoured the surrounding areas and asked in all nearby villages and farms, but nobody had seen them. They're not even entirely sure which track the family has taken since various hiking paths start near the parking lot. I think–"

"Oh, the food!" Dean interrupted him, reaching for the cutlery, while a waitress put steaming pies in front of all of them.

"Dean, can you please think with your brain instead with your stomach for once?" Sam said, annoyed.

" _What_?!" Dean replied indignantly, his cheeks already full with pie.

Sam rolled his eyes, focusing back on Harry and Hermione.

"You remind me so much of Ron sometimes," Hermione suddenly said, a look between awe and disgust on her face.

"Who's 'On?" Dean asked.

Hermione blushed, realising she'd said that out loud. Normally, she avoided thinking about her ex-boyfriend. They hadn't spoken since Christmas, she realised, and a spark of hurt and regret shot through her. Lifting her gaze, she saw that Dean's eyes were focused on her, and she quickly looked away. She felt like he'd been able to see inside her, to see the pain, the regret, the brokenness.

"A friend of ours," Harry helped her out. "He has… similar eating habits."

Sam snorted.

"Anyway," the wizard added, "I think –"

"You Brits eat weird food, you know that?" Dean interrupted Harry again, who glared at the older man. "But the pie is awesome. I love pie."

His gaze was still on Hermione, his eyes sparkling with mirth, and Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch. She marvelled in the fact that something as simple as pie could make the older Winchester so happy, so content. If they managed to hunt that Wendigo, she'd make some of her mother's famous apple pie for him.

"As I was saying," Harry continued slightly louder than necessary, "we should go to the parking lot. Maybe magic can reveal the path they've taken."

Hermione quickly focused back on the actual conversation and nodded in agreement. "Exactly. What have you guys found out?"

Sam chewed, swallowed, and replied, "Not much more. Nice family, apparently. From Manchester. Come here every year."

"So they should know their way around," Dean added between two forks of pie. "It's unlikely they've just gotten lost."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "So it's our monster, then."

"Looks like it." Sam shrugged.

"Any idea what it could be?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. "We think Wendigo."

Hermione took a sip from her tea, trying to calm her nerves. The Wendigo certainly seemed like one of the more dangerous monsters since you couldn't reason with it. Just like the Dementors.

"Peachy," she murmured under her breath.

"It didn't snow or rain for two days. But the rain now will destroy all the hard evidence and wash away the scent of the hikers," Sam warned, looking out of the window. Although it was barely noon, it was almost dark outside. A thick blanket of clouds covered the sky; there was no lone ray of sunlight as sharp, flowing sheets of water crashed down on the earth like bullets. "The police won't find anything."

"Magic will," Harry reassured him.

Hermione took a bite of her vegetable pie, trying to conceal her nervousness, and asked as soberly as possible, "So, what's the plan?"

An hour later, they stood at the same parking lot where the police had found the black VW. The rain had lessened to a steady drizzle that moistened their hats and jackets and clung to their exposed skin. They'd had to wait until the sky had cleared enough for them to start the hunt. Sam knew that a Wendigo was practically unbeatable at night, and the purple twilight of a thunderstorm was not the best condition to hunt the perfect hunter.

"Okay, witch, do your magic trick," Dean said, his arms crossed. Sam had to suppress rolling his eyes at his brother's antics. He found that the filthy look Hermione shot his brother was totally justified.

" _Homenum revelio_ ," she then whispered. Nothing happened.

"Well, wasn't that spectacular," Dean said dryly.

"Oh, shut up," Hermione snapped. "It tells us that there're no other humans in a certain radius. As soon was we're near the lost family, the spell will lead us to them. Right now, we're too far away."

"What now?" Sam asked, eyeing the two paths that lead deeper into the woods, starting at the parking lot.

Hermione rolled her shoulders, as if to brace herself, then conducted a complicated wand movement, saying, " _Tempum revelio_."

Suddenly, Sam caught a glimpse of a black VW entering the parking lot. Then, the image flickered and jumped forward; four people in brightly coloured rain jackets exited the car. The doors closed without sound. They looked oddly real, almost touchable, their lips moving in silent conversation. But Sam knew that there was nothing but air. What he was seeing was … the _past_? Another jump; and the group entered the path on the left. Then the illusion faded.

"That way," Hermione said calmly, lowering her wand.

"Was that…?" Sam began uncertainly.

The witch nodded. "We saw a short glimpse of what happened here."

"But… how?" Dean asked, wide-eyed.

Hermione shrugged. "Magic."

"Come on," Harry said, turning to the correct path.

The ground was covered in heavy, half molten snow, and Sam's socks were wet within seconds. Harry and Hermione walked a few paces ahead of him, and he was able to hear their conversation.

"What kind of spell was that?" Harry asked quietly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. Harry was a wizard, too. Why didn't he know the spell Hermione had used? A second later, the girl answered both their questions.

"I invented it. It's not perfect yet, but… it'll be extremely helpful in crime-solving."

"You… what?" Harry gasped.

"I can't go back more than 36 hours. And it doesn't work if I have no connections to the place or the people," she explained hastily. "It's a very personal spell; that's its main problem. Therefore, I read everything I could find on the family, so I could establish a connection."

"But how does it work?"

Sam strained his ears to hear the answer. The constant drizzle of the rain almost covered Hermione's hushed voice. "It picks up on the caster's intended target, using their magic to…" she paused. "To force the past into the present, to coexist. We perceive time as linear, but it's not."

"You're bloody brilliant, you know that, Hermione?" Harry said, the smile obvious in his voice.

"No, the physicist of the last century were brilliant, who explained time theory in a much more convincing way than the alchemists who invented the time turner," the girl deadpanned, the sighed. "It's a quite exhausting spell, really."

Sam exchanged a glance with his brother. What were time-turners? Did that mean these people had the ability to _influence_ time? It was scary enough that Castiel had been able to zap them into the past, but… turning back time? That seemed different.

Then, another though occurred to him: So the natural witches and wizards could invent spells? Maybe they could invent some monster-killing spell? So far, the Aurors had trained to combine their magic with the weapons provided by the Winchesters. But wouldn't it be much easier if a simple spell could kill the demon, or vampire, or rougarou? He needed to talk to Hermione about that.

Sam had to admit that he was quite impressed by the young witch. She was barely twenty, was an accomplished war heroine – from what he gathered from the history books he'd found in Harry's library – studied every night until late for those weird exams – NEWTs or whatever – and had time to invent spells. On the other hand, she didn't seem to have much of a social life. She'd gone to that school once or twice, but more to talk to teachers than to friends. From what he'd understood, Harry had gone up to Hogwarts every weekend to visit his girlfriend; in the evenings, he sometimes went to a place called 'the Burrow' or to visit his godson. Sometimes, Hermione accompanied him, but more often she'd stay locked up in her room with books as her only company.

"Our Wendigo's behaving a bit strangely," Dean suddenly said, forcing Sam to focus back on the present. "So many kills in so few months. It's starving."

"That only makes it more dangerous," Sam replied, climbing over a rogue tree root that grew over the small path.

"How do you think it got here? Did it swim?" Dean wondered.

"Possible. That would explain the hunger."

Dean slowed down a bit, so the two wizards couldn't hear the conversation. "But not why it came. It normally stays in the cooler areas of the U.S. and Canada. The one we killed in Lost Creek was … rare."

"I know." Sam shrugged. "And either, the hikers didn't make it back before sunset or the creature hunted by day."

"Which would be… _off_."

Sam nodded.

"And... look around." Dean made a sweeping gesture. "It's freaking winter. These sons of bitches hate winter; they go into hibernation."

Sam paused. "So… you think…"

Dean stopped and turned to look at his brother. "It's _not_ a Wendigo."

–

" _Fuck_."

They started moving again to not lose the two figures climbing up the path ahead.

"Should we tell them?" Sam asked quietly, his mind spinning, ideas of possible monsters shooting through his head. He wished he had his laptop or at least some lore books, but they were far away on another continent.

"No," Dean replied. "I mean, what should we tell them? We have no idea what it could be."

Sam shot his brother an angry glare. "And lie to them?"

"It's not lying exactly…" the other Winchester replied cagily. "It's for their own good."

"To let them go in blind?"

"No. Now they feel like they have control over the situation. We don't need to worry them. _We_ can handle whatever it is," Dean said confidently and lengthened his strides until he was well ahead of his younger brother. Sam knew what that meant – the conversation was over, Dean had decided, no matter if Sam agreed or not.

And for the record, Sam did not agree, not at all.

* * *

 **Tada!** **I hope you liked it. :)**

 **Btw, the spell is my own invention. Helensburgh and the National Park really exist, but I've never been there. I just chose a spot on the map. The newspaper also exists. The headline is paraphrased from SPN 01x02 (Wendigo).**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: What? Another update? - Yes, you're seeing right. Surprise! :) Just to celebrate the season finale of season 14!**

 **This chapter has been betaed! Thank you so much for giving Sam's POV a more American flair… :)**

* * *

 _"_ _Listen man, I know we've had... our disagreements. […] But, Sammy... come on! […]  
_ _Don't you dare... think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you!"_

 _—_ _Dean Winchester, Season 8: Sacrifice_

* * *

9\. Showdown

Almost an hour after they'd left the parking lot, the rain had finally stopped. However, thick drops still slipped down from leafless branches and were swallowed by the remains of the snow. The smell of rotten leaves and wet earth hung in the air, and the sound of dripping drowned out all other sounds.

Sam strained his ears, but all he heard were his and Hermione's footsteps beside him. They had split-up fifteen minutes ago, just as the family had done; the mother and son took the path that would lead to the top of the mountain, while father and daughter opted to take a route that would lead them towards the lake and then back to the car.

The path was leading steeply upwards, and it was difficult to make any progress forwards. The rain and the slush had soaked the earth, which was now muddy and slippery. Soon, their pants were wet and dirty, and their breathing ragged.

Just before they reached the top, the forest opened to a snow covered field. Here, freezing rain had come down instead of rain. They had to fight their way over refrozen patches of snow that had formed layers of ice, where both of them almost fell down a few times, and through drifts of granular loose névé, where they almost sank knee-deep into the snow.

The view was spectacular though: clouds heavy with rain were driven by a harsh wind over the Scottish mountains, a grey large lake down below, a few houses in the distance shrouded in mist. But Sam didn't much care for it. There was no sign of their monster... whatever it was.

A few times, he'd almost started a conversation, almost told Hermione everything. _Almost_. But then he'd bit his tongue and marched on.

"I hate hiking," Hermione said breathlessly, her hands on her hips as she surveyed their surroundings. "The view is quite nice, though."

Sam nodded silently, also trying to regain his breath.

"Sam?" she asked tentatively. "Why would the Wendigo attack in broad daylight?"

Sam flinched. The witch was too clever for her own good. "Maybe it was desperate."

"Must be," she said quietly. "Or maybe, they accidentally stumbled over his lair."

Relieved that she suggested such an excellent solution, Sam nodded a bit too feverishly. "So, that means, the lair is on the other side of the mountain, towards the lake, since the… Wendigo," Sam swallowed, "took all four of the hikers."

Hermione glanced at him. "Right." Suddenly, she put her backpack down and opened it. "Before we go on, I need some hot tea and chocolate. There's nothing better than chocolate at the top of a mountain." She pressed a chocolate bar and a metal cup filled with hot tea into Sam's hand before he could protest.

"Thanks," he nodded. Instantly, warmth seeped through his frozen fingers, and he realised how cold he'd been.

Hermione smiled, blowing on her hot beverage. "There were days when we lived on tea, Harry and I." When she noticed Sam's gaze, she clarified, "Last winter, when we were on the run. We didn't always have food, sometimes just crackers, or mushrooms, or whatever we could find in the woods."

Sam couldn't stop the pity that flashed over his face. "Dean's always hungry, there's not always much time to stop on a hunt," he said quickly to cover up his slip. She didn't need pity from him. "He always carries some food with him."

Hermione winked. "Me, too. Always be prepared!" She extracted a box with sandwiches from her small bag – _how exactly did that all fit in there?,_ Sam wondered – and offered one to him.

"You're amazing," he smiled and wolfed down the cheese sandwich.

"I know," Hermione smiled back. But it didn't seem sincere. "We should go on."

Sam swallowed back whatever he'd intended to say and nodded.

A few minutes later, they crossed the tree line. Suddenly, Sam stopped dead, so that Hermione stumbled into him. The hairs on his neck had raised, and his hunter instincts were screaming at him. They were no longer alone.

Hermione seemed to feel it, too, since she drew her wand and turned her back to him, covering Sam's blind spots.

"Help!" a young voice suddenly cried out. "Help me, _please_!"

Before Sam could stop her, Hermione had thrown all caution to the winds and ran towards the voice. "Where are you?" she called.

"Hermione!" Sam cried, but she didn't listen. Had she forgotten that a Wendigo could imitate voices? If it even was a Wendigo. Maybe, it was really one of the lost children?!

"Here!" the voice of a child lured the witch further away from the path. Sam had no choice but to follow. He grabbed the lighter and one of the Molotov cocktails – just in case – and hurried after Hermione.

A moment later, a scream echoed through the forest. Hermione! Sam's feet drummed over the uneven ground, and, suddenly, he stepped into emptiness – losing his balance, Sam fell forwards, dropping down into a hollow. He hit the ground with a thud and heard the glass bottle break underneath him. The smell of gasoline tinged the air and he cursed. At least, the ground here in the lee of the cliff had been covered in a thick layer of leaves, which had softened their fall.

"Are you okay?" Hermione whispered.

Sam took her offered hand, struggling to his feet. "Fine. You?"

She nodded silently. There was a bruise forming on her cheek and some leaves were tangled in her hair, but otherwise she looked okay. "I'm afraid we've found the lair," she whispered, pointing towards an opening in the stone formations. Grey light, barely bright enough to illuminate the surroundings, slanted through the trees, and the entrance to the cave lay in complete shadow. They'd both fallen down a steep, almost vertical, slope which led to the cave in front of them.

Sam could discern drag marks in the earth and blood on the entrance of the cave. This was definitely where the monster was holed-up.

"We should get the others," he suggested quietly, already starting to retreat. He realised the lighter had fallen out of his fingers during the fall, and now he couldn't light his remaining Molotovs on his own. He had no real weapon, just knives and guns that wouldn't help against a Wendigo.

"Hermione, run!" he said more intensely, grabbing her arm.

They didn't get far. Suddenly, there was a large shadow looming over them.

Hermione didn't hesitate. " _Incendio_." A stream of flames shot towards the creature, but it was faster. The foliage where it had been only a second ago went up in flames.

Sam readied a Molotov cocktail. If he could hit the beast, maybe a spark from her wand would be enough to torch it. Judging from the speed of the creature, their first guess, a Wendigo, seemed correct. When he saw movement, he threw the bottle. Almost at the same time, Hermione cast her fire charm again, as if they'd practised it countless times. Orange flames erupted in front of them, and Sam had to squint against the sudden brightness. A howling told them that they had wounded the monster, but they hadn't managed to set it on fire.

"Bugger!" Hermione cursed, performing a whip-like motion with her wand. A rope of fire sprang from it and she circled it around them, protecting them from an attack.

"So Sam, you're the hunter. What's the plan?" she asked, breathing hard.

"Set fire to everything that moves," he replied, his eyes scanning the trees nervously.

"That's not exactly helpful."

"I know."

For a moment, all they could hear was their own breathing, the whistle of the fiery rope as it whooshed through the air, and the low crackling of dying fire. The acrid stench of something burning filled the air. Smoke from the smoldering wet leaves weaved its way over the floor like fog and gathered in grey clouds in the pit until they could barely make out the tree line.

"Why is it waiting to attack?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled because she had one arm pressed on her mouth to protect it from the smoke. Her hands had started to shake; whether because of fear or exhaustion, Sam didn't know.

"Dean will have heard your scream. He'll be here any second," Sam tried to reassure her, eying the flickering flames of her fire whip in alarm. If it died, they were defenceless.

The smoke was becoming more intense; it was a thick, pungent, tang that pervaded their nostrils, filtered down to lather their tongue, and made it ever harder to breathe. Sam coughed.

"I can handle this. I don't need saving," Hermione snapped, her fingers tightening around her wand. "Come on, show yourself."

As if the monster had heard her, Sam saw a shadow moving to his left in the thickening smoke. He threw the Molotov cocktail and Hermione's fire whip broke it in mid-air, just as the Wendigo charged towards them.

The gas exploded in a cloud of flames.

Droplets of fire landed on Sam's clothes and hands, burning his skin. Automatically, he jumped backwards.

The last thing he saw was Hermione being thrown through the air by a lightning-fast attack. Then everything went black as pain exploded in his head.

* * *

"I can smell smoke," Dean announced breathlessly. He and Harry were running uphill towards Hermione's scream

"Maybe… maybe they've already killed the Wendigo," Harry choked out between breaths.

 _If it_ is _a Wendigo_ , Dean thought to himself, but didn't say anything.

Soon, they spotted grey smoke rising from a hollow, and Dean stopped. He put a finger to his lips, then drew his gun, and carefully advanced into the small smoky clearing. There was no sign of either Sam or Hermione.

Dean's heart pounded violently in his chest. What if they were hurt? What if the monster had got to them?

Harry suddenly stopped and picked something up from the ground. When he held it against the light, Dean could see that it was a wand. _Hermione's_ wand.

They exchanged concerned glances. Hermione wouldn't just drop her wand. That meant the monster had her, had _Sammy_.

A slight touch at his shoulder made Dean turn. Harry pointed towards a hole in the rock formation, the entrance of a cave maybe, hard to see through the lingering acrid smoke. The younger boy was pale, but he seemed determined.

Dean nodded, and as silently as possible, they moved towards the dark hole. The smell of blood and rotten leaves greeted them inside, and Dean grimaced.

" _Lumos_."

A small light illuminated the low cavity. No sign of the creature. Dean let out a small sigh of relief while he scanned the place. After a few metres, the ground sloped gently, and the rocks opened to a larger cave. And there! – There were four shadows hanging from the ceiling!

Harry had already spotted them and was tip-toeing deeper into the cave towards them. Now Dean could make out who the bound and unconscious people were – it was the missing family. Their clothes were ripped and bloody, but they were still breathing.

"I can apparate them to a hospital," Harry whispered, severing the girl's ties with his wand. Effortlessly, he caught her and looked expectantly at Dean. "They need our help. They must be suffering from hypothermia by now."

Dean nodded. "I'll go looking for Sam and Hermione."

"Here." Harry pressed Hermione's wand into his numb fingers. "And if the Wendigo comes back before I do –"

"I'll set his ass on fire," Dean finished grimly. He didn't wait for Harry's reply, but took out his flashlight and quietly made his way deeper into the cave. A low _pop_ told him that Harry had apparated away.

 _Where was the monster? Why was it so quiet?_ Dean's breathing seemed too loud and his heartbeat filled his ears. _Where was Sam?_

The dim beam of the flashlight flickered across uneven walls and dirty ground and suddenly caught in a puddle of blood.

"Shit," cursing, Dean realised that it was his brother who was lying lifelessly in the red liquid. A few metres away, he spotted the chestnut curls of Hermione.

"Sammy!" At once, he was at his side. Quickly, he checked his brother's pulse. It was low but steady. The blood seemed to be coming from a bad head wound.

"Wake up!" he whispered harshly, shaking his brother. For a few agonising seconds, Sam didn't react; then his lashes began to flutter.

"Sammy, Sammy, come on," Dean coaxed. "I'll get you out of here."

Sam's eyes snapped open. "Dean… Hermione!"

Dean's gaze flickered over to the girl. She looked okay, just passed out. "She's fine," he reassured his brother. "Come on, we need to get you out of here before that fugly comes back."

Sam nodded limply, wincing at the movement. While his younger brother struggled to his feet, Dean moved over to Hermione. "Hermione, come on," he said, shaking her slightly.

Instantly, her eyes snapped open, and she gasped as she startled up in to a defensive position. Only now, Dean saw that she seemed to have small burns on her face and hands. "Here." He pressed her wand into her fingers. "Come on."

"Thanks. Dean?" she whispered, seeming a little disoriented. "Where's Sam?"

"He's fine," Dean repeated, pulling her to her feet. "You?"

"I'm okay," she said, steadying herself at the wall. She didn't look okay, but strong enough to walk. Worry clawed at Dean, but he swallowed it down. She _said_ she was okay. So Dean nodded, focusing back on his injured brother, who had barely managed to climb to his feet.

As he'd done countless times before, he slipped an arm under Sam's shoulder, supporting his weight. Half dragging him, he led Sam towards the entrance, where Harry could apparate them away. They could re-group, and then kill this son of a bitch that had attacked them.

Relief flooded him, giving him new strength, as the dim daylight slanting through the narrow entrance reached him. They'd almost made it out. The family was gone, rescued; Harry had done his job.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean repeated, and with another step they were outside.

"Where is it?" Sam suddenly asked.

"Where's what?" Dean asked, scanning the surroundings for the monster.

"The… Wendigo."

Dean's heart stopped. So it _had_ been a Wendigo. Shit!

Suddenly, Sam fell against him, and Dean stumbled, catching him. His brother had passed out again. "Sammy!" he hissed, but the other Winchester didn't react.

Dean's gaze flickered to the cave. Where was Harry when he needed him? And why wasn't Hermione already outside? Hadn't she been right behind them?

"Sam!" Dean said again, louder this time. "Sam, come on. Don't do this." He shook Sam's limp form, but this time his brother didn't wake up. Dean's mind went into overdrive.

 _He couldn't leave Sam here. The Wendigo could appear any second. –_

 _But Hermione was still inside. –_

 _But Sam was hurt_.

"Sam! Wake up," Dean rasped, as if he could force his brother to snap awake by sheer power of will.

"Dean?" Harry appeared out of nowhere, crouching down beside them.

"Help him!" Dean ordered, his voice tinted with panic. "I think he needs an ambulance."

Harry didn't move, just scrutinised the tree line.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean barked. Sammy could have a concussion, or worse.

"Where's Hermione?" the boy asked, hesitating.

 _Dammit!_ Sammy passing out had pushed her to the back of his mind again. He wasn't used to a team most of the time, to watching out for more than just his brother.

"She's fine. I'll get her." Dean jumped to his feet. "Now _go_!" he urged.

Harry sent him a pained look, grabbed Sam and turned on the spot, disappearing. Cursing himself, Dean dove back into the darkness of the cave.

* * *

 _A few minutes earlier._

Hermione's head hurt, and her vision swam in and out of focus. It felt like just a second ago, Dean had been right in front of her, but now she stood in total darkness. He'd left her!

" _Lumos_." Even the small spell seemed exhausting. She'd used a lot of her magic earlier. But now she could at least see where she was going.

Suddenly, goose bumps ran over her body. There was something breathing right behind her! Before she could turn, or even scream, the Wendigo had grabbed her, his clawed hand covering her mouth. She felt herself being dragged backwards over rocks and holes.

 _'_ _Relashio_ ,' she cast silently, and the hand let go. With a sickening sound, she could hear and feel, her head landed on stone, and stars swam in front of her eyes. But she was still aware enough that she knew the Wendigo was right there.

" _Incendio maxima_!" she choked out, flames erupting from her outstretched wand. The heat took her breath away, and almost singed her clothes. It wasn't a controlled stream of fire, but an explosion of flames that went in all directions.

Quickly, she covered her face and rolled aside.

A pained growling sound told Hermione that she'd managed to hit the thing again. Quickly, she looked up and, in the light of leaves she'd accidentally set on fire, she could just make it out. The Wendigo was vaguely in the shape of a human, but taller, with claws instead of fingers. But despite her pain, there was something else she struggled to comprehend. A black shadow on its left forearm.

The monster used the second she had needed to overcome the shock and attacked her. Claws shredded her clothes and sliced through her skin as if it was butter, and pain exploded in her chest; then, she was suddenly flying through the air before she hit the rock wall, hard. All air was pushed out of her lungs and she couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, as the pain in her chest intensified. Barely aware, she heard angry snarling close to her, too close.

Without thinking, Hermione cast the first spell that came to her mind, " _Stupefy_."

Then darkness claimed her.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you to my beta. And thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited, and followed. Enjoy the chapter. :)  
**

* * *

 _This isn't just your war, this is war. Now, something big and bad is coming, and it's coming fast, and their side holds all the cards.  
Now, at best, all we've got is us, together. No secrets or half-truths here.  
_ _— Ellen Harvelle, Season 2: Simon Said_

* * *

10\. Hermione's discovery

"She'll wake up soon," Sam said quietly from behind him. A comforting hand landed on Dean's shoulder, but he shook it off. _He_ had done this! It was his fault that Hermione was still unconscious. He'd saved Sammy, and Hermione had been hurt. _Badly_ hurt.

Dean still remembered her ghostly white face, and the blood that seeped through her clothes, dark in contrast. Small burns all over her body. The Wendigo had cut three diagonal lines from her right shoulder to her navel. At first, Dean had thought she was dead, and his heart had stopped. But then, he'd seen her chest moving.

Now, Hermione's skin was as good as new. No sign of the claw marks or the burns. Magic could obviously do that much.

"I still wonder how she managed to knock the creature out. Any bright ideas?" a voice rumbled behind them. The Auror guy – Mad-Eye or whatever – was talking to Harry only a few feet away, but now he was obviously also asking the Winchesters.

"How the hell should I know?" Dean snapped, only half-turning. He was angry, no _seething_. He felt the urge to punch something. Killing the monster who'd hurt his brother and friend hadn't been enough. He wanted to rip it apart. But, if he was being honest, he wasn't angry at the monster, he was angry at himself for letting Hermione get hurt.

"I haven't the faintest idea about _your_ magic. I torched the monster. That's it," Dean added.

"Relax," Sam whispered, touching his shoulder again. But he didn't want Sam's comfort, so he casually stepped out of his reach.

"And we're glad you did," Harry said, his tone a little colder than usual, and Dean couldn't hold it against him. He'd also be angry if someone else had let _his_ brother get hurt.

"Nobody's blaming you, Dean," Sam tried again, this time loud enough for everybody to hear.

Harry nodded. "Of course not."

Dean's eyes flickered to him, then back to Hermione, who looked too small and too fragile. Of course, they were blaming him, just like he was blaming himself. He was supposed to know how to handle these things, the monsters, that's why they had asked for his help... and he'd _failed_.

"Why isn't she waking up?" Sam asked, walking away from Dean and towards the two wizards.

Harry replied, "She exhausted her magic, the healers said. She needs rest to replenish her resources."

Dean's gaze suddenly paused at the small white lines that were faintly visible on Hermione's left arm, where her sleeve had ridden up. Slowly, he turned his head to read them.

 _-udblood_.

More, he couldn't see. _Oh god_. Dean felt his inside grow cold. Had someone carved a word into the witch's skin? No wonder Hermione was traumatised and freaked out around knives. What could it mean? He faintly remembered the conversation he'd overheard where Hermione had explained to his brother the workings of the war.

 _Mudblood_. That was the word.

Now Dean had allowed that she'd been carved up _again_. Because he'd been too slow. Because he'd put his brother first. The problem was that Dean would always put his brother first. _Always_.

 _Protect Sammy_ , his father's voice echoed through his head.

Hermione hadn't deserved that. He wished he could go back in time and save her. But he couldn't.

Why hadn't he looked out for her? Why hadn't he waited?

Dean was man enough to know he cared for her… surprisingly. He _had_ noticed that his heart started pounding if she was near, that electricity flashed through him if they touched, that her lips just begged to be kissed sometimes.

But he couldn't do the hook-up-and-disappear-forever-act on her. She'd probably hunt him down and feed him his balls.

Hermione deserved someone who put her needs first. And Dean couldn't do that.

Not that she expected that of him. No, she probably still loathed him, and if not, she would after today. He'd abandoned her. That was unforgivable.

"Well, inform me as soon as she wakes up," Moody said and promptly left.

The urge to destroy something grew inside Dean and he clenched his fingers into fists. He needed to get out of here, out of the bloody hospital, out of the city.

He needed another hunt.

Making a split-second decision, Dean turned towards the others. "I need some fresh air."

"Dean –" Sam called after him, but he was already out the door. But Sam didn't give up so easily.

"Dean," he repeated, catching up with his brother.

"What?" Dean barked, stomping down the hallway, but Sam had no problems keeping up.

"Where are you going?"

"Out."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean was faster. "Back off, dude! I know how to take the freaking subway."

Sam's mouth closed with a _clack_ and he stopped as if he'd walked against an invisible wall. Dean didn't turn or wait, just headed for the exit.

* * *

Hermione gasped awake, her eyes wide, her fingers clenched into the linen. At once, Harry was at her side.

"Mione. Mione, you're safe. You're okay," he said calmingly and slowly his voice seemed to reach her. She turned her head, and her eyes focused.

"Harry," she whispered. Then she looked down on herself, her shaking fingers searching for a wound that no longer existed. "The Wendigo. It got me."

"You're okay, Hermione. We healed you," Harry said. "Luckily, you always carry some Dittany around."

At that, the corners of her mouth twitched, but then her expression darkened. "What happened?" she asked, but her eyes were now focused on Sam, who waited a few paces away. "Are you okay?"

The younger Winchester nodded. "I'm as good as new. Dean too."

"You knocked the Wendigo out," Harry explained. "Dean was able to burn it."

Hermione frowned, trying to remember the situation. "I… did?"

Harry nodded. "What did you do?"

Her frown deepened and she looked down on her hands. "It attacked me, and I used _Incendio_ but burnt myself. And… then…" She looked up. "The stunning spell, Harry. It worked!"

"Stupefy?" Harry asked, confused.

Hermione nodded.

"Well, that is good news. It means monsters can be affected by our magic." Harry turned towards Sam. "Right?"

Sam shrugged. "Probably. But we don't know if it was the spell, or the creature, or any other circumstance we don't know of."

Hermione suddenly gasped, "Harry!" She was suddenly pale, her eyes as big as plates. "I… _oh my god_ , the Wendigo, it-!"

"Slow down, Hermione," Harry said, grabbing her trembling hands in an attempt to ground her. "What's going on?"

Sam was suddenly there as well, peering worriedly down on Hermione, who seemed to be hyperventilating. "Did you notice anything unusual with the creature?"

Hermione nodded shakily. "It…" She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. "It had a Dark Mark, Harry."

"It – what?" Sam asked, but she ignored him.

"That means… It _has_ to mean that it was a… _Death Eater_."

Harry remained stunned for half a second, contemplating her words; it was not possible, was it? Voldemort was dead and gone! Why would a monster carry his mark? "How do you mean 'it was Death Eater'? What did you see?" he asked, leaping to his feet.

Hermione flinched back from his sudden forcefulness. "I saw a shadow on its arm, its left arm. I couldn't see it clearly, but… but I'm sure about what it was."

"I'm not doubting what you saw," Harry said, visibly trying to reign in his anger. He hadn't meant to question her, just the implications of it. A Dark Mark? How can a monster carry the Dark Mark? Had the Wendigo been a crazy back-up plan of the Dark Lord, one he'd never got around to implementing before the Battle of Hogwarts? Had he created the monster - or had any of his remaining followers anything to do with it instead.

"It means…" Hermione begun hesitantly, as if trying to explain the unvoiced questions in Harry's mind. "It means either Voldemort created the Wendigo, forcing one of the Death Eaters to eat human flesh."

"No doubt he'd be capable of that," Harry grit out between his teeth.

"Or?" Sam supplied, his gaze flickering rapidly between Hermione and Harry.

"Or he recruited a Wendigo, giving it the Dark Mark to be able to control it," Hermione replied. "But I don't think that's the case."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Well." She shifted her weight, tugging the blanket a little closer around herself. "The first explanation accounts for a number of things… firstly, why there's a Wendigo hunting in Britain. It was born here. We don't have to elaborately explain why it suddenly decided to leave the American continent and travel to Britain of all places. Simple. And according to Occam's razor –"

"The most simple explanation must be true," Sam completed her sentence, nodding. "What else?"

"It explains the unusual hunting habits, people going missing by day, and the hunger. It's the magic," she explained at Sam's questioning look. "It makes the Wendigo more powerful, but it also enhances everything else. The hunger for one."

Harry silently agreed with her. Now that she'd said it, it made perfect sense. Voldemort had dove deep into dark magic - no wonder, he'd also known about legends and monsters. Of course he hadn't hesitated to create them, to control them.

Disgust distorted Harry's features. Had it been a punishment for one of the Death Eaters, or had one of them volunteered? Had the person been forced to eat another human? Had the pureblood-minded follower known that they'd become less than human in the process?

Hermione paused before explaining the final argument of her reasoning. "I'd need the case files to confirm it, but it also explains another detail." She exchanged a glance with Harry, who nodded encouragingly. "The victims."

Harry groaned internally. _Of course_.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

"The victims were mostly Muggles, people without magic," Hermione replied softly. "I don't remember if there was a witch or wizard among the victims, but if… I bet it's a Muggleborn."

"Bloody hell," Harry suddenly cursed, kicking one of the chairs across the room. Rage bubble up inside him. Death Eaters had continued to kill and torture people right under his nose, and he hadn't noticed, hadn't even suspected them.

Hermione flinched and even Sam twitched a little at his little outburst, but Harry didn't care.

"He's haunting us from the grave!" he snarled. "Using his creatures to torment Muggles, to hunt Muggleborns and Halfbloods. I can't believe it."

"We need to go through the profiles of all the cases again," Hermione said, her voice sounding almost detached, her mind going through the case files. "Maybe there are more that fit the profile."

Harry's head snapped around towards her. Of course! She was right - there might be more cases like this. If Voldemort had created one monster, what would've stopped him from creating more?

A thousand possibilities ran through Harry's mind. Was there a leader among the monsters? Or was it all unorganised and basic satisfaction of needs, chaos?

"I'll go to the Ministry now. Moody and Kingsley need to know." Harry was almost at the door when he paused, looking back to his friend. "I can stay if you –"

"Go!" Hermione said hastily. "I'm fine."

Harry nodded, hoping to convey his thanks with just one look - what would he do without Hermione? - and disappeared through the door.

Sam watched him leave, his mind still trying to grasp the turn of events. Slowly, he picked up the chair Harry had manhandled and sat down next to Hermione's bed. "I don't fully understand," he finally said.

Hermione nodded. "It's a lot to take in." She rubbed her temples. "I don't think I fully understand it either."

"Are you okay? Any lingering headaches?" Sam asked worriedly, and she instantly dropped her hands.

"I'm okay, Sam. This is much bigger than my well-being." Her eyes suddenly pierced him as she came to another abrupt realisation. "Sam, it could mean there's a conspiracy to overthrow the ministry."

"The Death Eaters?" he guessed, remembering the term. He'd read about them in Harry's books. Dark wizards, purebloods, and the followers of Voldemort.

Hermione nodded feverishly. "Yes! Maybe they can – to a degree – still influence the creatures, or maybe they don't even need to. They only need to set them loose, create more and more until Britain is swamped." She threw the blanket aside, revealing what looked like a hospital issued pyjama. "The Aurors and the Ministry are in over their heads, their attention diverted. A negative press campaign about how the current administration is unable to handle the threat would be all it takes," she explained, climbing out of bed before Sam could protest or help. She swayed for a second, then steadied herself. "There could be new elections, and the sacred twenty-eight would be able to reclaim the power they lost in the war." She grabbed her wand and turned towards Sam, a deadly serious expression on her face. "Or – and far, far worse – they stage a coup d'état."

"But I thought the Death Eaters were all arrested?" Sam asked slowly, trying to catch up with her thought process. When Hermione swayed again, he leapt to his feet and caught her elbow just in time. Only a few hours ago, she'd been on the verge of death. She should not be on her feet already.

"Some. Most," Hermione replied, pale and breathing heavily. She leaned into Sam, letting him steady her; then waved her wand over herself. The pants suddenly transformed into jeans and the shirt into a sweater. "This will do for now. We've got to go!"

He didn't react when she stepped away and towards the exit, beyond staring at her, his mouth agape. Did she just _transform_ her clothes? He still couldn't wrap his head around magic sometimes.

"Come on," Hermione urged, having almost reached the door. The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes about what she'd just been through, but he could tell she wouldn't surrender to it. There was a fire in her eyes, a core of steel below, and Sam couldn't help but admire her in that moment.

"Sam!"she startled him out of his musings. "Transfigured clothes only last for half an hour or so. I need to go to Grimmauld Place quickly!"

Together they walked out the door.

* * *

 **I'm having a bit of a writer's block with this story right now. I have an outline, but I don't know exactly where the next chapter should go. Any ideas or input?  
Thanks :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This was an incredibly hard chapter. Sorry, it took so long. The next chapter is already written and only needs to be betaed, so I'm hoping you'll get it sooner :)**

 **I hope you enjoy this story. Don't forget to review.**

* * *

 _If you have to ask, you'll never know. If you know, you need only ask._

 _\- J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_

* * *

11\. Discoveries

The fresh air and the brisk walk cleared Dean's mind, and he lifted his face into the cold drizzle, as if in hope that it would wash away his feelings of guilt. He tried to focus solely on his breathing, trying to banish the urge to destroy, to hurt, and kill.

Little by little, he calmed down enough to realise how selfish he'd acted. What if Hermione had woken up by now? What if the others were called to another hunt, and had to go without him because he'd taken off?

Dean stopped and looked around. He had no idea where he was. The streets were empty and dark, the orangish colour of the sodium street lights barely seeming to make a difference. Brick houses with dirty and broken windows stared down on him. It smelled like garbage and abandonment.

 _Awesome_ , he thought bitterly.

He could faintly remember turning corners and crossing streets, but he certainly didn't know how to find his way back to the hospital on foot, or Grimmauld Place for that matter. However, if he could find the next subway station – or the _Tube_ , as they called it here – he knew where to go. His father had taught him well, to always be aware of his surroundings and exit routes, which included street names or something as simple as the next bus stop or subway station.

Dean could 'borrow' a car of course, but this was not a life-or-death situation, and he didn't really feel like fighting traffic while driving on the wrong side of the road.

Sighing, he turned and walked down the empty street.

It was late when Dean finally arrived at Grimmauld Place. His shoulders drawn up against the wind, he leapt up the few steps to the front door.

Dean knocked, and a few seconds later, that creature - house elf? - opened the door, shooting a disgusted glare at him and muttering about having to open doors for Muggles. Dean ignored his words, simply thankful to be in the warmth of the house.

"Sam?" he called. "Harry?"

Nobody answered. The house stayed eerily quiet. Dean could even hear the faint ticking of the clock in the library.

"Where is everyone?" he asked Kreacher, who was about to descend to the kitchen.

"Kreacher doesn't know. Kreacher doesn't keep track of where master goes," the house elf grumbled and disappeared without another look.

"Awesome."

Dean checked his phone, but no new messages or calls. Gee, would it hurt Sam to let him know what was going on? Deciding against calling his brother or Harry, Dean slowly climbed up the stairs, but paused before he entered his own room. His eyes flickered to Hermione's door. Except for the one night, he'd never seen her room. As noiselessly as a hunting cat, he tiptoed towards it, but he didn't open the door just yet. His fingers lingered a few inches over the doorknob, hesitating.

Hermione would be angry… but who said she had to find out about it? Dean wanted answers, wanted to know more about her, about her past, about the war that had scarred her so deeply, physically and emotionally.

Maybe her room held some answers.

Then, his fingers closed around doorknob, and he pushed the door open.

* * *

Hermione stepped through the doors of the Hogwarts library. Instantly, the familiar smell of dust and books greeted her, grounded, and calmed her. Her shoulders relaxed, and her headaches subsided a little. Suddenly, she felt like she could do this, like she could solve this case.

Harry had stayed behind at the Ministry, because of an emergency meeting together with Kingsley, Mad-Eye, Arthur, and others. Hermione's conclusions - that there was a Death Eater conspiracy - had caused nothing short of a panic, and the Auror office was under extreme pressure.

Hermione couldn't help them. She had no mind for politics and press campaigns. She wanted to figure out how many monsters were out there, if they were connected, and how magic would affect them.

It wasn't that only the Hogwarts library could provide the information she needed, the Ministry also held an extensive collection of books… but it didn't feel the same. Here, she felt more at ease, more at home than anywhere in the world. She'd helped restore the library after the war, had tirelessly repaired books and cleaned floors.

"I can't believe I'm actually here," Sam said, stepping to her side. "I'm standing in a magical school."

Hermione smiled at him. "And you might just be the only Muggle who ever will." It had barely taken any convincing for the headmistress to alter the protection spells, so that Sam was able to see and walk through the school.

"Awesome," Sam echoed Dean's usual phrase, but in this case, it was simply fitting. He suddenly felt a little guilty, but he hadn't had time to contact his brother. The magic here and at the Ministry jammed his cell. Hermione'd offered to send Dean an owl, but Sam wasn't sure how Dean would react to that. His brother had probably ended up in some bar in London, drowning his self-hatred and guilt in alcohol - and the barmaid, most likely.

As they made their way through the empty library to the restricted section, Sam tried to skim over some titles, but now was not the time to get lost in books about magic.

Hermione took out the case files as soon as they'd sat down. Without another word, she handed Sam half of the pile, and, silently, they started working. About five hours and three cups of coffee - in Sam's case - or black tea - in Hermione's case - later, they'd sorted the cases into three neat piles.

The smallest one contained solved cases where they were reasonably sure that no Death Eaters were involved. The much bigger pile contained solved and mostly unsolved cases where the profile and victimology fit to Death Eater attacks. And the last pile contained unsolved cases that didn't fit the profile and might be traced back to other monsters.

Hermione leaned back and rolled her shoulders. She was dead on her feet. Her head felt empty, as if stuffed with cotton wool, and the slight headache from the hospital had intensified to a barely tolerable pain.

"I'll send these to Harry," Hermione finally said, tapping the Death Eater pile with her wand. Instantly, it disappeared into thin air.

"What about the rest?" Sam asked, eyeing the thick pile with unsolved non-Death-Eater-related cases.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I'll talk to Harry. But I guess the Death Eater ones will have priority. Maybe you and Dean can tackle these on your own if it's just a common monster."

Sam nodded tersely. "Hermione, don't take this the wrong way, but… you look horrible," he said quietly, and she could read the concern in his eyes.

Hermione was too tired to argue. Besides, she knew he was right. "Do you want me to send you back to Grimmauld Place?"

"You're not going there?" Sam questioned.

She shook her head. "I'll stay here for the night. I want to talk to the Headmistress tomorrow."

"McGonagall?"

Hermione nodded.

"She's a bit scary, you know that?" Sam said, causing the Gryffindor to smile knowingly. "If it's okay, I'd rather stay here. If it's my only chance to ever be in a magical castle, I have to use it. Maybe you can show me around tomorrow?"

Hermione nodded, smiling about the hopeful note in Sam's voice, and gathered the case files. "Then, come on."

They left the library and followed dark torch-lit hallways to a large staircase. The castle was chilly; winter hadn't quite left these walls yet. Hermione felt goose bumps run over her skin. She pinned them on the cold, not on the memories that were attached to these halls. Dead bodies on the ground. Fred. Tonks. Lupin. She should be over that by now, but she wasn't. She could still see the blood splattered on the floor, the paintings ripped apart by curses, the burn holes that marked the ancient wood like bruises. The marble staircase had been in pieces.

"This is the main staircase," Hermione said, trying to pull herself together. "Be careful, sometimes the stairs change direction."

Sam nodded absentmindedly, his mouth slightly agape.

Normally, Hermione would've loved to explain everything to him, but it took all her strength to climb up the stairs to Gryffindor tower.

After she'd settled Sam on one of the comfortable couches, she dragged herself up to her room and fell on the bed, not even bothering to change. The second her head touched the pillow, Hermione was asleep.

* * *

Although Sam was really tired, he couldn't fall asleep. He knew that only a few hours ago he'd been unconscious, but the magic and the fiery potion - _Pepper-up Potion?_ \- had given him back his energy. The couch was comfy enough - Hermione had magically enlarged it - but his senses were on high alert. From the corner of his eyes, he could see the paintings moving. So far he'd only seen dark hallways with knights and statues and the Gryffindor Common Room, but there must be more.

Hermione had promised to show him everything tomorrow, but she'd seemed liked she'd sleep through the day. Sam didn't want to miss his chance. He'd read the newest edition of _Hogwarts. A History_ quite carefully, so he knew about the Room of Requirement, the Chamber of Secrets, the dungeons, the ghost that was a teacher, the Forbidden Forest with so many magical beasts, the Quidditch ground, the Triwizard Tournament, the Battle of Hogwarts… and he wanted to see _everything_. If only to rub it into his brother's nose, who had missed the chance to ever be in Hogwarts.

However… Sam wasn't quite sure if Dean would really appreciate the castle or just see the evil side, the ghosts and the werewolves.

Hermione had told him that Hogwarts was heavily protected by Aurors because, every now and then, malevolent creatures tried to break in and murder the whole student population. But apparently, none of the students was overly concerned about that. They had already survived one battle and were sure that they could handle another one, if need be.

Deciding that sleep was for the dead, Sam got to his feet, grabbed his jacket, and ventured out the portrait hole. The painting of the lady guarding the Common Room looked disapprovingly at him, but stayed silent. He remembered that the Room of Requirement was situated on the seventh floor, so he traced back his steps to the grand staircase and walked up until he reached the seventh floor. It took him quite some time to find the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Would the room open for him - a _Muggle_? Sam wasn't sure. Also, he'd read that you could only enter when you were in real need of it. So what did he desperately need now?

Sam considered that for a moment before it hit him. A way to defeat the hybrid-creatures, obviously!

Sam rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Then, he focused on that need, on the urge to protect people, to protect this school, and walked up and down the tapestry three times


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just as a warning - there's not much plot in this chapter; it's more a bit of fun as Sam discovers Hogwarts. Also, it's unbetaed, so please excuse any mistakes.  
**

 **Before I forget, I'll be travelling the whole of August, and I'm not entirely sure I'll manage another chapter before that. So you're in for a long wait, I'm sorry! *hides her face behind her hands***

* * *

 _"'Welcome to Hogwarts,' said Professor McGonagall."_

 _\- Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling_

* * *

12\. A Strange and Splendid Place

The first golden sunrays of a new morning already slanted through the high windows when Sam exited the Room of Requirement. He couldn't wait to tell Hermione about the information he'd learned, to show her the library that the Room of Requirement had conjured. On the other hand, he really didn't want to disturb her. Hermione really had been half-dead when they had transported her to the hospital, and she needed the sleep more desperately than him.

Normally, Sam would reach out to his brother, but that was not an option now. The only person who'd be able to enter the castle without problems was a wizard, and Sam needed a wizard - or a witch - to decipher the books. Hermione was the smart one, he knew that, but maybe Harry could help, too.

But how could Sam reach him?

Sam was already halfway down the hallway when he remembered Hermione's offer of sending Dean an owl. He needed an _owl_! (He tried not to think about the strangeness of that statement.)

Sam was sure that there was an owlery somewhere - thanks to _Hogwarts. A History_ \- but he wasn't exactly sure where. Maybe he could ask another student. The Great Hall was on the ground floor - perhaps he could find a student or teacher there.

Suddenly full of energy again, Sam sprinted down the stairs, taking two at once, until he reached the ground floor. There, he stopped to orientate himself, but, before he could do anything, he suddenly found himself being pushed to a wall, ropes winding tightly around his body. Two girls with brooms stood in front of him; one had red hair, fiery brown eyes, and freckles, the other was a bit taller and had chestnut hair. Both wore similar expressions of mistrust and anger and their wands were outstretched in front of them.

"Who are you?" the redhead bellowed.

"S-Sam Winchester," Sam choked out, fighting for breath. He couldn't move, could barely breathe.

The redhead narrowed her eyes, as if she recognised his name, but she didn't release him.

"There is no Sam Winchester in this school. You're too old to be a student anyway. So who are you? Why are you here?", the other girl asked sharply.

"You're right, I'm not a student," Sam explained quickly. He gave up fighting the ropes and focused on explaining his presence to the girls. "Hermione brought me here, Hermione Granger."

"We know who Hermione is," the taller girl snapped. "But Hermione doesn't have any friends outside school, and certainly not from the States."

The ropes around his throat tightened and Sam gasped for air. "Ask her. She's in the - the Gryffindor Common Room. Please."

" _Revelio_ ," the redhead said, waving his wand over Sam, who tensed even further. But nothing happened. "Well, at least he's not disguised," she said to the other girl. "I think he might actually be speaking the truth. Harry couldn't tell me much, but I know that -"

"Harry Potter!" Sam gasped. "I know him, too. Glasses. Green eyes."

The redhead's gaze sharpened dangerously, and she stepped closer while the other girl rolled her eyes. " _Everyone_ knows Harry Potter."

"No, no, no," Sam said, coughing. "We- we hunted Dementors together. I'm a hunter. I work with him and Hermione."

"If you're lying, I swear to Merlin..." the redhead threatened, and the rope literally strangled him now.

"Please," Sam begged, wishing he could move his hands to loosen the rope around his throat. Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes.

"Ginny," the taller girl said in a cautioning voice, and Ginny must have listened to her because suddenly Sam could breathe again. His knees hit the floor as the spell released him, and he barely managed to catch himself.

"Prove it," the girl named Ginny challenged, her wand pointing right between his eyes.

Sam searched his numb brain for information he might give her. "Errr… he lives in an old house in … it belonged to…" A cough interrupted his sentence, and he needed a moment to pull himself together. "It belonged to … I can't tell you the address or anything about it because there's this weird magic that hides the place, but … but there's an elf living there. Kreacher!"

The tall girl looked questioningly at Ginny, who had lowered her wand a little, but still didn't look convinced. "And Hermione?"

"Hermione..." Sam hesitated. He actually didn't know that much about the witch, bits and pieces that she'd revealed and the things he'd seen with his own eyes. So he tried to select something that only her friends would know. "She has panic attacks about when someone tortured her during the war. The wounds on her arm re-open sometimes," Sam added, wincing a little at the memory.

Ginny's eyes widened, and Sam realised he might have revealed something that the girls didn't know about Hermione. Cursing himself internally, he tried to find one more piece of information that could prove he knew her. "And her Patronus is an otter," Sam hurried to say, remembering Hermione's words about the unique form a Patronus that corresponded only to one person.

Finally, Ginny relaxed a little. "Either you're a psychopath stalker..., or you do know them."

"I do," Sam promised, still on his knees in front of the girls, but he didn't dare to get up yet. If they hadn't gathered that he was not a wizard, they might perceive his movement as threat. Not that he could hurt them, even if he wanted to. The only weapon he carried was a silver knife in his boots.

The girls exchanged a glance. "Fine," the taller one said. "Ginny, you can handle him, right? I'll go up for a shower."

Ginny nodded, still totally focused on Sam. "Sure, Demelza."

Slowly, Sam climbed to his feet, still a little wary and very conscious of the wand Ginny held in her fingers.

"Sam Winchester, huh?" Ginny asked.

Sam nodded.

"Sorry for that." She gestured towards his throat that still felt raw and swollen. "You can never be too careful, even in Hogwarts."

Sam nodded again. He completely understood that.

"Not much of a talker, then," Ginny mumbled. "What were you up to, mystery man?"

"Er, I was looking for the owlery to send Harry a note," Sam explained. He hated how the tiny piece of wood in Ginny's hand made him feel utterly defenseless, not that he'd admit to it, _ever_. "And you?"

Ginny nodded towards the broom in her hand. "Training. You do know that the owlery is the other way, right?"

"Actually no. I've obviously never been to Hogwarts before."

"Right. American," Ginny said more to herself than to him. "Why didn't Hermione show you?"

Sam swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable. "She's still sleeping. We were working long on a case, and I didn't have the heart to wake her."

"Right, you said before that you work together. You're a … _hunter_?" Ginny asked slowly, tasting the word in her mouth.

Sam nodded. All of a sudden, he remembered having heard Ginny's name before - she was Harry's girlfriend. But if Harry chose not to tell her about what he was doing, Sam wouldn't either. So he decided to distract her - the letter to Harry could wait until later.

"So, Ginny, you're a Quidditch player?" he asked, pretending he knew all about that.

Ginny beamed proudly. "Captain and Seeker, yes. I'll try out for the Holyhead Harpies after school."

Sam nodded enthusiastically. He wasn't sure Ginny had realised he was not a wizard yet, but he couldn't stop himself. "I've never played. I- I actually never even sat on a broom."

"Really?!"

Sam nodded. "Do you think I could maybe…?"

"You want to fly now?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"It's probably going to be my only chance," Sam said honestly. "My brother would either kill me or tease me to death."

Ginny chuckled, and finally, her whole posture relaxed. "I know a thing or two about brothers. They're a pain in the arse." She eyed Sam speculatively for a moment. "Come on, Sam, let's find you a broom."

* * *

Still vibrating with energy, Sam walked back to Hogwarts castle, Ginny beside him. Flying had been… embarrassing. Fun, but embarrassing. To Sam, it had felt like balancing on a toothpick, and all his muscles and body control had helped absolutely _nada_. He'd felt too tall, offering too much of a drag, and the wind had almost pushed him off the broom.

Still, it had been the most fun he'd had for - for months, probably.

Flying had been a weird experience, trusting the magic in that piece of wood to keep him in the air - a trust he normally didn't have. And the weirdest fact of all was that the broom hadn't rejected him, even though he possessed no magic of his own.

The sun painted the old castle in golden morning light, which softened its edges and set the glass windows aglow. It looked even more out of a fairytale than it already was.

"I'm hungry," Ginny suddenly said as they leapt up the last steps to the entrance.

Sam nodded, a bit unsure what to say.

"Come on, I'll show you the way," she offered good-naturedly. "You can sit with me, in case Hermione's still sleeping."

"Thank you," Sam said. He didn't fancy being attacked by another student again.

"So…" Ginny began carefully, "what you said about Hermione…"

Sam stiffened.

"... that her wounds reopen." Ginny hesitated, shooting a sideways glance at him. "How bad is it?"

Sam swallowed. "If she didn't tell you, I shouldn't."

"So it's bad," Ginny concluded, nodding to herself. "She's an idiot, carrying all that by herself. But Harry knew, I guess."

Sam nodded although it hadn't been a question, and Ginny didn't acknowledge him.

"Not that she'd tell _me_ anything. Pretending she's _fine_." Ginny's voice turned bitter. "But she is not fine, far from fine. She's working too much - doing her Hogwarts coursework simultaneously to the work she does with you." Ginny stopped and looked at him. "Actually, what _do_ you work?"

"Um," Sam replied eloquently.

Ginny just looked at him, waiting.

"Um, we - so, my brother and I - we hunt monsters," Sam stuttered awkwardly.

"What does that mean?" Ginny asked. "Are you like a special Auror division, only for creatures?"

"Yes," Sam sighed, relieved she'd given an explanation herself. "We hunt the supernatural, the evil creatures that hurt people. Your government contacted us."

A muscle in Ginny's cheek twitched and her gaze sharpened. "Does that mean … are we in danger?"

 _Fuck_ , Sam cursed internally. The redhead was too clever for her own good. "We're handling the situation," he replied noncommittally, but Ginny didn't seem convinced.

"If these creatures are evil - shouldn't we learn about them at school? Shouldn't we be prepared?"

"The school is absolutely safe, Ginny," Sam tried to reassure her. "And concerning the curriculum, I'm the wrong person to talk to."

Finally, Ginny moved again. "What about Harry?"

"Huh?", Sam asked, not grasping her mental leap.

"Is he in danger?", she clarified, not looking at him.

Images of the Wendigo splashed over Sam's mind, its sharp claws, its super-human speed. Hermione bleeding from the cut in her chest, unconscious. How easily it could have been Harry, bleeding, dying. Sam understood Ginny's concern, and he knew she'd see right through any lie he'd try to tell

"Being a hunter is dangerous," Sam replied honestly. "No different than being an Auror, I guess."

Ginny barely even reacted, but her fingers tightened around her broom. After a few steps, she said, "I appreciate the honesty, Sam."

Just before they reached the Great Hall, Sam saw something move from the corner of his eye. At once, his gaze flew to the ceiling, and he saw - almost in slow motion - the chandelier in front of the door falling. Sam reacted in a split second, pulling Ginny back and out of the way. With the loud noise of splintering glass and metal upon stone, the chandelier crashed to the floor and Sam covered his face to protect it from the flying shards. A cackling came from above and Sam's head snapped up towards it.

The surprisingly solid looking shape of ghost, dressed in loud, outlandish clothes including a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie, hovered beneath the ceiling. Instantly, Sam froze. He had no salt and no iron, only a useless silver knife.

"Peeves!" Ginny fumed, not surprised by the presence of the supernatural phenomenon at all. Then, Sam recalled that ghosts were common at Hogwarts. And Peeves was the poltergeist. "You could've killed us!"

The poltergeist, however, paid her no mind. "A hunter in Hogwarts," he screeched, zooming in on Sam. "A Muggle in Hogwarts."

Automatically, Sam stepped back, his eyes searching for a weapon and finding the old armour next to the door. Without hesitating, he leapt over the fallen chandelier, skidded over the glass covered floor, and grabbed the sword, just as the poltergeist made to attack him.

"You're not hunting me, hunter!" the ghost howled and suddenly materialised in front of Sam, who swung his sword at him.

"I'm not!" Sam hastened to say. "I'm not here to kill you!"

The poltergeist dove underneath Sam's sword with a surprising agility and had him pinned to the wall within the blink of an eye. For the second time that day, Sam had a stone wall in his back and his toes barely touched the floor. Peeves' face was contorted by fury and icy air washed over Sam.

"Let him go!" Ginny yelled, but the ghost ignored her.

"You're lying, hunter. You've killed hundreds like me before," the poltergeist snarled, his wickedly slanted, orange eyes only inches in front of Sam's face.

"I'm not lying," Sam said firmly, and to put emphasis on his words, he dropped the sword, which landed with a clatter on the floor. "I promise, I'm not here for you. I only hunt ghosts that have killed innocent people."

Peeves narrowed his eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

Sam swallowed thickly. "You can search me - I have no weapons on me. I'm here to help Hermione with a case."

The ghost didn't react.

From the corner of his eyes, Sam saw that Ginny had drawn her wand and was pointing it at them. But Sam didn't need saving. He was perfectly able to handle one simple poltergeist without his brother or that redheaded witch.

"Why else would the headmistress let me on the ground? Everybody cherishes you, Peeves. Even I've heard great stories about you," Sam added, following his gut instinct.

A smile lit up the poltergeist's face. "Really?"

Sam nodded feverishly. "Everybody talks about how you helped defeating Voldemort."

Suddenly, Peeves let go of him and Sam landed roughly back on his feet. His knees felt like jelly and he braced himself against the wall.

"Oh, yes, I chased away the Death Eater, didn't I?" Peeves said. "I helped winning the Battle of Hogwarts. In a sense I defeated the most evil wizard of all time." His gaze sharpened. "Everybody talks about it, you said?"

Sam nodded, desperately searching his mind for something more to say, but luckily Ginny saved him.

"I've heard you'll get a medal at the memorial ceremony," the redhead threw in, and Sam cast a thankful glance towards her.

"A medal?" The ghost's chest seemed to swell. "Ahahahaha. A medal for ol' Peeves." Cackling loudly, he whooshed through the air. " _Finally_."

Suddenly, the poltergeist was gone; they only heard his voice echoing through the hallway, singing: " _I did it, I bashed them, Peeves is the one, and Voldy's gone mouldy, so now let's have fun!_ "

"You're alright?" Ginny asked, suddenly right next to him.

Sam nodded a bit shakily. Being attacked two times within the span of one morning wasn't unusual for him, but the events with the Wendigo and his lack of sleep still sat deep in his bones. "That was easier than usual," he admitted with a laugh.

Ginny smiled, but suddenly her expression darkened. "So… what he said about you…" she let her voice trail away.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I'm a Muggle," he admitted, bracing himself for her reaction.

All of sudden, Ginny burst out laughing - not the reaction Sam had expected. Outrage maybe, or disgust, but Ginny's delighted laughter caught him off guard.

"You fooled me, you know," Ginny grinned and boxed his arm, as if they were best friends. "A Muggle, a freaking _Muggle_ at Hogwarts."

Still giggling, she opened the door to the Great Hall.

"Well, Sam, welcome to Hogwarts."

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 **I hope you've enjoyed this sillyness :) Please review.**


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